| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Son of Tarzan by Edgar Rice Burroughs: "I know what I'd do," said Hanson. "I'd take the girl along
with me. If she loves you she'll go, all right."
"It can't be done," said Baynes. "He bosses this whole
blooming country for miles around. He'd be sure to catch us."
"No, he wouldn't, not with me running things," said Hanson.
"I've been trading and hunting here for ten years and I know
as much about the country as he does. If you want to take
the girl along I'll help you, and I'll guarantee that there won't
nobody catch up with us before we reach the coast. I'll tell you
what, you write her a note and I'll get it to her by my head man.
Ask her to meet you to say goodbye--she won't refuse that. In the
The Son of Tarzan |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Glaucus/The Wonders of the Shore by Charles Kingsley: in two or three fathoms water. Stay: here is one which is "more
than itself." On its back is mounted a cluster of barnacles
(Balanus Porcatus), of the same family as those which stud the
tide-rocks in millions, scratching the legs of hapless bathers. Of
them, I will speak presently; for I may have a still more curious
member of the family to show you. But meanwhile, look at the mouth
of the shell; a long grey worm protrudes from it, which is not the
rightful inhabitant. He is dead long since, and his place has been
occupied by one Sipunculus Bernhardi; a wight of low degree, who
connects "radiate" with annulate forms - in plain English, sea-
cucumbers (of which we shall see some soon) with sea-worms. But
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Dark Lady of the Sonnets by George Bernard Shaw: make yourself another. Think of your grave, woman, not ever of being
beautified. All the perfumes of Arabia will not whiten this Tudor
hand.
THE MAN. "All the perfumes of Arabia"! "Beautified"! "Beautified"!
a poem in a single word. Can this be my Mary? _[To the Lady]_ Why
do you speak in a strange voice, and utter poetry for the first time?
Are you ailing? You walk like the dead. Mary! Mary!
THE LADY. _[echoing him]_ Mary! Mary! Who would have thought that
woman to have had so much blood in her! Is it my fault that my
counsellors put deeds of blood on me? Fie! If you were women you
would have more wit than to stain the floor so foully. Hold not up
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