| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Weir of Hermiston by Robert Louis Stevenson: Poor Archie stood dumbfounded. She had moved some steps away from him
before he recovered the gift of articulate speech.
"Kirstie!" he cried. "O, Kirstie woman!"
There was in his voice a ring of appeal, a clang of mere astonishment
that showed the schoolmaster was vanquished.
She turned round on him. "What do ye Kirstie me for?" she retorted.
"What have ye to do wi' me! Gang to your ain freends and deave them!"
He could only repeat the appealing "Kirstie!"
"Kirstie, indeed!" cried the girl, her eyes blazing in her white face.
"My name is Miss Christina Elliott, I would have ye to ken, and I daur
ye to ca' me out of it. If I canna get love, I'll have respect, Mr.
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Mysterious Island by Jules Verne: Herbert's chest was laid bare, and the blood having been stanched with
handkerchiefs, it was bathed with cold water.
The contusion, or rather the contused wound appeared,--an oval below the
chest between the third and fourth ribs. It was there that Herbert had been
hit by the bullet.
Cyrus Harding and Gideon Spilett then turned the poor boy over; as they
did so, he uttered a moan so feeble that they almost thought it was his
last sigh.
Herberts back was covered with blood from another contused wound, by
which the ball had immediately escaped.
"God be praised!" said the reporter, "the ball is not in the body, and we
The Mysterious Island |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Twilight Land by Howard Pyle: such treasure as I brought from the cavern over yonder." He
dipped his hand into the jar, and when he brought it out again it
was brimful of shining, gleaming, sparkling jewels. You can guess
how he felt when he saw them.
Well, this time a whole year went by, during which the young man
lived as soberly as a judge. But at the end of the twelvemonth he
was so sick of wisdom that he loathed it as one loathes bitter
drink. Then by little and little he began to take up with his old
ways again, and to call his old cronies around, until at the end
of another twelvemonth things were a hundred times worse and
wilder than ever; for now what he had he had without end.
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