| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from War and the Future by H. G. Wells: element of secretiveness and inexpressiveness to be allowed for
before we decide that they have not in some sort of fashion done
so. Still, after all allowances have been made, there remains a
vast amount of jerry-built and ready-made borrowed stuff in most
of people's philosophies of the war. The systems of authentic
opinion in this world of thought about the war are like
comparatively rare thin veins of living mentality in a vast world
of dead repetitions and echoed suggestions. And that being the
case, it is quite possible that history after the war, like
history before the war, will not be so much a display of human
will and purpose as a resultant of human vacillations,
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Three Musketeers by Alexandre Dumas: days are gone by I shall be away from here.' Ah, try it!"
Milady, finding her thoughts betrayed, dug her nails into her
flesh to subdue every emotion that might give to her face any
expression except agony.
Lord de Winter continued: "The officer who commands here in my
absence you have already seen, and therefore know him. He knows
how, as you must have observed, to obey an order--for you did
not, I am sure, come from Portsmouth hither without endeavoring
to make him speak. What do you say of him? Could a statue of
marble have been more impassive and more mute? You have already
tried the power of your seductions upon many men, and
The Three Musketeers |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Wrecker by Stevenson & Osbourne: come; I had been (and still am) convinced that he was sure to
be unhappy out of Muskegon; in short, I had a thousand
reasons, good and bad, not all of which could alter one iota of
the fact that I knew he only waited for my invitation.
"Thank you, Myner," said I; "you're a much better fellow than
ever I supposed. I'll write to-night."
"O, you're a pretty decent sort yourself," returned Myner, with
more than his usual flippancy of manner, but (as I was
gratefully aware) not a trace of his occasional irony of meaning.
Well, these were brave days, on which I could dwell forever.
Brave, too, were those that followed, when Pinkerton and I
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