| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Oakdale Affair by Edgar Rice Burroughs: for us; then we all meet at edge of wood just other side
town near old mill."
During the remainder of the afternoon and well after
dark the party remained hidden in the willows. Then
Giova started out with Beppo in search of garbage cans,
Bridge bent his steps toward a small store upon the
outskirts of town where food could be purchased, The
Oskaloosa Kid having donated a ten dollar bill for the
stocking of the commissariat, and the youth and the
girl made their way around the south end of the town
toward the meeting place beside the old mill.
The Oakdale Affair |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Figure in the Carpet by Henry James: that startled me: "Ah I'm not a bit engaged to her, you know!"
"Not overtly," I answered, "because her mother doesn't like you.
But I've always taken for granted a private understanding."
"Well, there WAS one. But there isn't now." That was all he said
save something about Mrs. Erme's having got on her feet again in
the most extraordinary way - a remark pointing, as I supposed, the
moral that private understandings were of little use when the
doctor didn't share them. What I took the liberty of more closely
inferring was that the girl might in some way have estranged him.
Well, if he had taken the turn of jealousy for instance it could
scarcely be jealousy of me. In that case - over and above the
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Lady Baltimore by Owen Wister: "Daphne!" called out Mrs. Trevise, "Mr. Henderson will take an orange."
And so we finished our meal without further reference to eyes, or noses,
or anything of the sort. It was just as well, I reflected, when I reached
my room, that I on my side had been asked no questions, since I most
likely knew less than the others who had heard all that Juno had to say;
and it would have been humiliating, after my superb appearance of knowing
more, to explain that John Mayrant had walked with me all the way from
the Library, and never told me a word about the affair.
This reflection increased my esteem for the boy's admirable reticence.
What private matter of his own had I ever learned from him? It was other
people, invariably, who told me of his troubles. There had been that
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