| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Heritage of the Desert by Zane Grey: from the direction of Seeping Springs. Snap Naab leaned against the side
of the door, his narrow gaze cunningly studying the rustlers before him.
More than any other he had caught a foreshadowing. Like the desert-hawk
he could see afar. Suddenly he pressed back against the door, half
opening it while he faced the men.
"Stop!" commanded Holderness. The change in his voice was as if it had
come from another man. "You don't go in there!"
"I'm going to take the girl and ride to White Sage," replied Naab, in
slow deliberation.
"Bah! You say that only for the excuse to get into the cabin with her.
You tried it last night and I blocked you. Shut the door, Naab, or
The Heritage of the Desert |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Lady Baltimore by Owen Wister: which (in some form) she had been expecting from him as her confederate
in this unwelcome and inopportune interview with me, and which his less
highly schooled perceptions had not suggested to him until prompted by
her.
"I should have been very glad to include you in our launch party if I had
known you were coming here to-day," lied little Charley.
"Thank you so much!" I murmured; and I fancy that after this Hortense
hated me worse than ever. Well, why should I play her game? If anybody
had any claim upon me, was it she? I would get as much diversion as I
could from this encounter.
Hortense had looked at Charley when she spoke for my benefit, and it now
|
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Long Odds by H. Rider Haggard: waggon at dawn and look out. But there was no river to be seen--only a
long line of billows of what looked like the finest cotton wool tossed
up lightly with a pitchfork. It was the fever mist. Out from among the
scrub, too, came little spirals of vapour, as though there were hundreds
of tiny fires alight in it--reek rising from thousands of tons of
rotting vegetation. It was a beautiful place, but the beauty was the
beauty of death; and all those lines and blots of vapour wrote one great
word across the surface of the country, and that word was 'fever.'
"It was a dreadful year of illness that. I came, I remember, to one
little kraal of Knobnoses, and went up to it to see if I could get some
'maas', or curdled butter-milk, and a few mealies. As I drew near I was
Long Odds |
