| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Insidious Dr. Fu-Manchu by Sax Rohmer: He burst into one of his rare laughs, and began to stuff broadcut mixture
into his briar. I could see that he had no intention of turning in.
"I can think of no one--no one of note--in London at present
upon whom it is likely that Fu-Manchu would make an attempt,"
he said, "except ourselves."
We began methodically to go through the long list of names
which we had compiled and to review our elaborate notes.
When, at last, I turned in, the night had given place to a new day.
But sleep evaded me, and "ANDAMAN--SECOND" danced like a
mocking phantom through my brain.
Then I heard the telephone bell. I heard Smith speaking.
The Insidious Dr. Fu-Manchu |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Dunwich Horror by H. P. Lovecraft: but seemed vaguely linked with his intonation or with the internal
organs that produced the spoken sounds. His facial aspect, too,
was remarkable for its maturity; for though he shared his mother's
and grandfather's chinlessness, his firm and precociously shaped
nose united with the expression of his large, dark, almost Latin
eyes to give him an air of quasi-adulthood and well-nigh preternatural
intelligence. He was, however, exceedingly ugly despite his appearance
of brilliancy; there being something almost goatish or animalistic
about his thick lips, large-pored, yellowish skin, coarse crinkly
hair, and oddly elongated ears. He was soon disliked even more
decidedly than his mother and grandsire, and all conjectures about
The Dunwich Horror |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Vailima Letters by Robert Louis Stevenson: in my name to the Leper Fund. I could not bear after that to
take from him any of that class of books which I have always
given him. Tell him the same terms will do. Clark to print,
uniform with the others.
I have lost all the days since this letter began re-handling
Chapter IV. of the Samoa racket. I do not go in for
literature; address myself to sensible people rather than to
sensitive. And, indeed, it is a kind of journalism, I have
no right to dally; if it is to help, it must come soon. In
two months from now it shall be done, and should be published
in the course of March. I propose Cassell gets it. I am
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