| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Octopus by Frank Norris: waist. A grey flannel shirt, open at the throat, showed his
breast, tanned and ruddy. He wore no hat. His hair was very
black and rather long. A pointed beard covered his chin, growing
straight and fine from the hollow cheeks. The absence of any
covering for his head was, no doubt, habitual with him, for his
face was as brown as an Indian's--a ruddy brown quite different
from Presley's dark olive. To Presley's morbidly keen
observation, the general impression of the shepherd's face was
intensely interesting. It was uncommon to an astonishing degree.
Presley's vivid imagination chose to see in it the face of an
ascetic, of a recluse, almost that of a young seer. So must have
|
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Spirit of the Border by Zane Grey: "What's this?" cried a man, authoritatively. He had come swiftly up, and
arrived at the scene where stood the grizzled frontiersman.
"It was purty handy, Wentz. I couldn't hev' did better myself, and I was
comin' for that purpose," said the frontiersman. "Leffler was tryin' to kiss
the lass. He's been drunk fer two days. That little girl's sweetheart kin
handle himself some, now you take my word on it."
"I'll agree Leff's bad when he's drinkin'," answered the fur-trader, and to
Joe he added, "He's liable to look you up when he comes around."
"Tell him if I am here when he gets sober, I'll kill him," Joe cried in a
sharp voice. His gaze rested once more on the fallen teamster, and again an
odd contraction of his eyes was noticeable. The glance was cutting, as if with
 The Spirit of the Border |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Vicar of Tours by Honore de Balzac: canon's words of the greatest happiness of his life.
The canon passed into the library and stayed there while the vicar
dressed. Presently the breakfast bell rang, and the gouty vicar
reflected that if it had not been for Troubert's visit he would have
had no fire to dress by. "He's a kind man," thought he.
The two priests went downstairs together, each armed with a huge folio
which they laid on one of the side tables in the dining-room.
"What's all that?" asked Mademoiselle Gamard, in a sharp voice,
addressing Birotteau. "I hope you are not going to litter up my
dining-room with your old books!"
"They are books I wanted," replied the Abbe Troubert. "Monsieur
|