| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Case of the Registered Letter by Grace Isabel Colbron and Augusta Groner: contrary to the opinion of the local authorities in G-. She has
come to ask for some one from here who could ferret out the truth
of this matter. You are free now, and if we find that it can be
done without offending the local authorities -"
"Who is the commissioner in charge of the case in G-?" asked Muller.
"Commissioner Lange is his name, I believe," replied Miss Graumann.
"H'm!" Muller and the commissioner exchanged glances.
"I think we can venture to hear more of this," said the commissioner,
as if in answer to their unspoken thought. "Can you give us the
details now, Madam? Who is, or rather who was, this John Siders?"
"John Siders came to our village a little over a year ago," continued
|
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Phaedrus by Plato: or rather the Professors of Rhetoric who swarmed at Athens in the fourth
century before Christ. As in the opening of the Dialogue he ridicules the
interpreters of mythology; as in the Protagoras he mocks at the Sophists;
as in the Euthydemus he makes fun of the word-splitting Eristics; as in the
Cratylus he ridicules the fancies of Etymologers; as in the Meno and
Gorgias and some other dialogues he makes reflections and casts sly
imputation upon the higher classes at Athens; so in the Phaedrus, chiefly
in the latter part, he aims his shafts at the rhetoricians. The profession
of rhetoric was the greatest and most popular in Athens, necessary 'to a
man's salvation,' or at any rate to his attainment of wealth or power; but
Plato finds nothing wholesome or genuine in the purpose of it. It is a
|
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte: voice directed him to the library; he entered and motioning him
out, shut the door.
It was the same room into which he had been ushered, as a guest,
eighteen years before: the same moon shone through the window; and
the same autumn landscape lay outside. We had not yet lighted a
candle, but all the apartment was visible, even to the portraits on
the wall: the splendid head of Mrs. Linton, and the graceful one
of her husband. Heathcliff advanced to the hearth. Time had
little altered his person either. There was the same man: his
dark face rather sallower and more composed, his frame a stone or
two heavier, perhaps, and no other difference. Catherine had risen
 Wuthering Heights |