| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Pathology of Lying, Etc. by William and Mary Healy: disease. At any rate, all regarded her as suffering from some
chronic disorder. Except for her extraordinary lying, of which
she made exhibitions to many, and some little tendencies to
dishonesty mixed with her lying, Inez was regarded as being quite
normal. The two other families with whom she lived for a time
found it impossible to tolerate the girl on account of her lying.
Finally, obtaining money by false representation, telling the
story of a rich uncle in Chicago to whom she was going, Inez
departed, taking with her a trunk containing valuables belonging
to the B.'s.
Dropping our chronological account of this case we may from this
|
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Wife, et al by Anton Chekhov: with three horses. My wife was evidently having a party.
Till midnight everything was quiet downstairs and I heard
nothing, but at midnight there was a sound of moving chairs and a
clatter of crockery. So there was supper. Then the chairs moved
again, and through the floor I heard a noise; they seemed to be
shouting hurrah. Marya Gerasimovna was already asleep and I was
quite alone in the whole upper storey; the portraits of my
forefathers, cruel, insignificant people, looked at me from the
walls of the drawing-room, and the reflection of my lamp in the
window winked unpleasantly. And with a feeling of jealousy and
envy for what was going on downstairs, I listened and thought: "I
|
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Life in the Iron-Mills by Rebecca Davis: My story is very simple,--Only what I remember of the life of
one of these men,--a furnace-tender in one of Kirby & John's
rolling-mills,--Hugh Wolfe. You know the mills? They took the
great order for the lower Virginia railroads there last winter;
run usually with about a thousand men. I cannot tell why I
choose the half-forgotten story of this Wolfe more than that of
myriads of these furnace-hands. Perhaps because there is a
secret, underlying sympathy between that story and this day with
its impure fog and thwarted sunshine,--or perhaps simply for the
reason that this house is the one where the Wolfes lived. There
were the father and son,--both hands, as I said, in one of Kirby
Life in the Iron-Mills |
