| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from In a German Pension by Katherine Mansfield: It was dark and cool in my room. A chestnut tree pushed green boughs
against the window. I looked down at the horsehair sofa so openly flouting
the idea of curling up as immoral, pulled the red pillow on to the floor
and lay down. And barely had I got comfortable when the door opened and
Frau Fischer entered.
"The Herr Rat had a bathing appointment," she said, shutting the door after
her. "May I come in? Pray do not move. You look like a little Persian
kitten. Now, tell me something really interesting about your life. When I
meet new people I squeeze them dry like a sponge. To begin with--you are
married."
I admit the fact.
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from New Arabian Nights by Robert Louis Stevenson: and cheese."
"What?" cried he, "yon black-avised fellow wi' the teeth? Was he
an I-talian? Weel, yon's the first that ever I saw, an' I dare say
he's like to be the last."
Even as he was speaking, I raised my eyes, and, casting a glance
into the street, beheld three men in earnest conversation together,
and not thirty yards away. One of them was my recent companion in
the tavern parlour; the other two, by their handsome, sallow
features and soft hats, should evidently belong to the same race.
A crowd of village children stood around them, gesticulating and
talking gibberish in imitation. The trio looked singularly foreign
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Breaking Point by Mary Roberts Rinehart: happening on a two-days' old paper, and reading over and over a
notice addressed to him. With Leslie Ward, neither better nor
worse than his kind, seeking adventure in a bypath, which was East
56th Street. And with Dick wandering the streets of New York after
twilight, and standing once with his coat collar turned up against
the rain outside of the Metropolitan Club, where the great painting
of his father hung over a mantelpiece.
Now that he was near Beverly, Dick hesitated to see her. He felt
no resentment at her long silence, nor at his exile which had
resulted from it. He made excuses for her, recognized his own
contribution to the catastrophe, knew, too, that nothing was to be
The Breaking Point |
