|The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from My Antonia by Willa Cather:
muffler about his neck and thick woollen gloves on his bony hands.
Lena spoke encouragingly to him, and he went off with such an important
professional air that we fell to laughing as soon as we had shut the door.
`Poor fellow,' Lena said indulgently, `he takes everything so hard.'
After that Ordinsky was friendly to me, and behaved as if there
were some deep understanding between us. He wrote a furious article,
attacking the musical taste of the town, and asked me to do him
a great service by taking it to the editor of the morning paper.
If the editor refused to print it, I was to tell him that he would
be answerable to Ordinsky `in person.' He declared that he would never
retract one word, and that he was quite prepared to lose all his pupils.
|The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Main Street by Sinclair Lewis:
That evening she did not merely consent to play cribbage
with Kennicott; she urged him to play; and she worked up
a hectic interest in land-deals and Sam Clark.
In courtship days Kennicott had shown her a photograph of
Nels Erdstrom's baby and log cabin, but she had never seen
the Erdstroms. They had become merely "patients of the
doctor." Kennicott telephoned her on a mid-December afternoon,
"Want to throw your coat on and drive out to Erdstrom's
with me? Fairly warm. Nels got the jaundice."
"Oh yes!" She hastened to put on woolen stockings, high
|The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from In Darkest England and The Way Out by General William Booth:
saving of men his life work, and who, occupied and absorbed with this
great pursuit, may naturally enough be expected to remain faithful,
there are multitudes of our Soldiers who, after a hard day's toil for
their daily bread, have but a few hours of leisure, but devote it
ungrudgingly to the service of the War. Again and again, when the
remains of some Soldier are laid to rest, amid the almost universal
respect of a town, which once knew him only as an evil-doer, we hear it
said that this man, since the date of his conversion, from five to ten
years ago, has seldom been absent from his post, and never without good
reason for it. His duty may have been comparatively insignificant,
"only a door-keeper," "only a War Cry seller," yet Sunday after Sunday,
In Darkest England and The Way Out