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Today's Stichomancy for Aleister Crowley

The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Moll Flanders by Daniel Defoe:

don't know what it is to be constable; I beg of you don't oblige me to be rude to you.' 'I think I need not; you are rude enough already,' says the mercer. 'No, sir,' says the constable, 'I am not rude; you have broken the peace in bringing an honest woman out of the street, when she was about her lawful occasion, confining her in your shop, and ill-using her here by your servants; and now can you say I am rude to you? I think I am civil to you in not commanding or charging you in the king's name to go with me, and charging every man I see that passes your door to aid and assist me in carrying you by force; this you cannot but know I have power to do, and yet I


Moll Flanders
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Richard III by William Shakespeare:

The flattering index of a direful pageant, One heav'd a-high to be hurl'd down below, A mother only mock'd with two fair babes, A dream of what thou wast, a garish flag To be the aim of every dangerous shot, A sign of dignity, a breath, a bubble, A queen in jest, only to fill the scene. Where is thy husband now? Where be thy brothers? Where be thy two sons? Wherein dost thou joy? Who sues, and kneels, and says 'God save the Queen'? Where be the bending peers that flattered thee?


Richard III
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Black Dwarf by Walter Scott:

ye to pit naething in't that may be prejudicial to my salvation; for I'll hae the minister to read it ower, and it wad only be exposing yoursell to nae purpose. And now I'm ganging awa', for ye'll be wearied o' my cracks, and I am wearied wi' cracking without an answer--and I'se bring ye a bit o' bride's-cake ane o' thae days, and maybe bring Grace to see you. Ye wad like to see Grace, man, for as dour as ye are--Eh, Lord I I wish he may be weel, that was a sair grane! or, maybe, he thought I was speaking of heavenly grace, and no of Grace Armstrong. Poor man, I am very doubtfu' o' his condition; but I am sure he is as kind to me as if I were his son, and a queer-looking father I wad hae