| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Trooper Peter Halket of Mashonaland by Olive Schreiner: stomachs, passing the time by carrying on a desultory conversation, or
taking a few whiffs, slowly, and with care, from their pipes, for tobacco
was precious in the camp.
Under some bushes a few yards off lay a huge trooper, whose nationality was
uncertain, but who was held to hail from some part of the British Isles,
and who had travelled round the world. He was currently reported to have
done three years' labour for attempted rape in Australia, but nothing
certain was known regarding his antecedents. He had been up on guard half
the night, and was now taking his rest lying on his back with his arm
thrown over his face; but a slight movement could be noted in his jaw as he
slowly chewed a piece of tobacco; and occasionally when he turned it round
|
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Atheist's Mass by Honore de Balzac: centuries! The wars of the Count of Toulouse against the
Albigenses were the tail end of that dispute. The Vaudois and the
Albigenses refused to recognize this innovation."
In short, Desplein was delighted to disport himself in his most
atheistical vein; a flow of Voltairean satire, or, to be
accurate, a vile imitation of the Citateur.
"Hallo! where is my worshiper of this morning?" said Bianchon to
himself.
He said nothing; he began to doubt whether he had really seen his
chief at Saint-Sulpice. Desplein would not have troubled himself
to tell Bianchon a lie, they knew each other too well; they had
|
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte: jerked the page from his finger: he contented himself with going a
bit farther back and looking at her instead of the book. She
continued reading, or seeking for something to read. His attention
became, by degrees, quite centred in the study of her thick silky
curls: her face he couldn't see, and she couldn't see him. And,
perhaps, not quite awake to what he did, but attracted like a child
to a candle, at last he proceeded from staring to touching; he put
out his hand and stroked one curl, as gently as if it were a bird.
He might have stuck a knife into her neck, she started round in
such a taking.
'"Get away this moment! How dare you touch me? Why are you
Wuthering Heights |
