|The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Scarlet Pimpernel by Baroness Emmuska Orczy:
quick, sharp splash of half a dozen oars. Chauvelin took out his
handkerchief and wiped the perspiration from his forehead.
"The schooner's boat!" was all he gasped.
Evidently Armand St. Just and his three companions had managed
to creep along the side of the cliffs, whilst the men, like true
soldiers of the well-drilled Republican army, had with blind
obedience, and in fear of their own lives, implicitly obeyed
Chauvelin's orders--to wait for the tall Englishman, who was the
They had no doubt reached one of the creeks which jut far out
to see on this coast at intervals; behind this, the boat of the DAY
The Scarlet Pimpernel
|The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Options by O. Henry:
of the immediate contiguity of the city.
"I say 'we,' but it was all meant for ex-Private, Captain de facto,
and Colonel-elect Willie Robbins. The town was crazy about him. They
notified us that the reception they were going to put up would make
the Mardi Gras in New Orleans look like an afternoon tea in Bury St.
Edmunds with a curate's aunt.
"Well, the San Augustine Rifles got back home on schedule time.
Everybody was at the depot giving forth Roosevelt-Democrat--they used
to be called Rebel--yells. There was two brass-bands, and the mayor,
and schoolgirls in white frightening the street-car horses by throwing
Cherokee roses in the streets, and-well, maybe you've seen a
|The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Margret Howth: A Story of To-day by Rebecca Harding Davis:
"Neither," she said, quietly brushing her shawl. "The work is
well done, I know."
The old man's eye glittered for an instant, satisfied; then he
turned to the books. He thought she had gone, but, hearing a
slight clicking sound, turned round. She was taking the chicken
out of the cage.
"Let it alone!" he broke out, sharply. "Where are you going with it?"
"Home," she said, with a queer, quizzical face. "Let it smell
the green fields, Doctor. Ledgers and copperas are not good food
for a chicken's soul, or body either."
"Let it alone!" he growled. "You take it for a type of yourself, eh?
Margret Howth: A Story of To-day