| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Wheels of Chance by H. G. Wells: Bechamel, tightening his chain in the Angel yard after dinner,
was the first to be aware of their reunion. He saw Hoopdriver
walk slowly across the gateway, his head enhaloed in cigarette
smoke, and pass out of sight up the street. Incontinently a mass
of cloudy uneasiness, that had been partly dispelled during the
day, reappeared and concentrated rapidly into definite suspicion.
He put his screw hammer into his pocket and walked through the
archway into the street, to settle the business forthwith, for he
prided himself on his decision. Hoopdriver was merely
promenading, and they met face to face.
At the sight of his adversary, something between disgust and
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Tales of the Klondyke by Jack London: the world the wrong way and did not like the feel of it.
"Life's a skin-game," he was fond of repeating, and on this one
note he rang the changes. "I never had half a chance," he
complained. "I was faked in my birth and flim-flammed with my
mother's milk. The dice were loaded when she tossed the box, and
I was born to prove the loss. But that was no reason she should
blame me for it, and look on me as a cold deck; but she did--ay,
she did. Why didn't she give me a show? Why didn't the world?
Why did I go broke in Seattle? Why did I take the steerage, and
live like a hog to Nome? Why did I go to the El Dorado? I was
heading for Big Pete's and only went for matches. Why didn't I
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Tapestried Chamber by Walter Scott: and cornfields of small extent, but bounded and divided with
hedgerow timber of great age and size. There were few marks of
modern improvement. The environs of the place intimated neither
the solitude of decay nor the bustle of novelty; the houses were
old, but in good repair; and the beautiful little river murmured
freely on its way to the left of the town, neither restrained by
a dam nor bordered by a towing-path.
Upon a gentle eminence, nearly a mile to the southward of the
town, were seen, amongst many venerable oaks and tangled
thickets, the turrets of a castle as old as the walls of York and
Lancaster, but which seemed to have received important
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