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Today's Stichomancy for Arthur E. Waite

The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Agnes Grey by Anne Bronte:

should have been pretty considerably at my ease, if my condescending hostess had not taken such manifest pains to make me so; and, as for the magnificence that surrounded her, nothing that met my eyes struck me or affected me half so much as her own altered appearance. Whether from the influence of fashionable dissipation, or some other evil, a space of little more than twelve months had had the effect that might be expected from as many years, in reducing the plumpness of her form, the freshness of her complexion, the vivacity of her movements, and the exuberance of her spirits.

I wished to know if she was unhappy; but I felt it was not my


Agnes Grey
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Chouans by Honore de Balzac:

"Yes," replied the first; "but how pale and agitated--"

"And beside herself," said the third; "she did not even see us."

At the door of her own room Mademoiselle de Verneuil saw the smiling face of Francine, who whispered to her: "He is here, Marie."

Mademoiselle de Verneuil awoke, reflected, looked at the child whose hand she held, remembered all, and replied to the girl: "Shut up that boy; if you wish me to live do not let him escape you."

As she slowly said the words her eyes were fixed on the door of her bedroom, and there they continued fastened with so dreadful a fixedness that it seemed as if she saw her victim through the wooden panels. Then she gently opened it, passed through and closed it behind


The Chouans
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Love Songs by Sara Teasdale:

And I cried to the windless valleys, "Be kind and take me back!"

But the thirsty tide ran inland, And the salt waves drank of me, And I who was fresh as the rainfall Am bitter as the sea.

November

The world is tired, the year is old, The fading leaves are glad to die, The wind goes shivering with cold Where the brown reeds are dry.