| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Hated Son by Honore de Balzac: plaintive groans of the dying woman. Thus the very circumstances
attending the birth of Etienne were renewed at the death of his
mother. The same tempest, same agony, same dread of awaking the
pitiless giant, who, on this occasion at least, slept soundly.
Bertrand, as a further precaution, took Etienne in his arms and
carried him through the duke's room, intending to give some excuse as
to the state of the duchess if the duke awoke and detected him.
Etienne's heart was horribly wrung by the same fears which filled the
minds of these faithful servants; but this emotion prepared him, in a
measure, for the sight that met his eyes in that signorial room, which
he had never re-entered since the fatal day when, as a child, the
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Merry Men by Robert Louis Stevenson: youthful air. The horse was turned, and in a few seconds they drew
up beside the palings of the inn garden.
'Here,' said Desprez - 'here, near the table, so that we may keep
an eye upon things.'
They tied the horse, and entered the garden, the Doctor singing,
now in fantastic high notes, now producing deep reverberations from
his chest. He took a seat, rapped loudly on the table, assailed
the waiter with witticisms; and when the bottle of Bass was at
length produced, far more charged with gas than the most delirious
champagne, he filled out a long glassful of froth and pushed it
over to Jean-Marie. 'Drink,' he said; 'drink deep.'
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Little Rivers by Henry van Dyke: Deacon, for lack of copper, rewarded him with a little silver
piece, a half-lira, in value about ten cents. A celestial rapture
of surprise spread over the child's face, and I know not what
blessings he invoked upon us. He called his companions to rejoice
with him, and we left them clapping their hands and dancing.
Driving after one has dined has always a peculiar charm. The
motion seems pleasanter, the landscape finer than in the morning
hours. The road from Cadore ran on a high level, through sloping
pastures, white villages, and bits of larch forest. In its narrow
bed, far below, the river Boite roared as gently as Bottom's lion.
The afternoon sunlight touched the snow-capped pinnacle of Antelao
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