| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Lin McLean by Owen Wister: joy; the little tearing river grew clear from the swollen mud, and shrank
to a succession of standing pools; and the fat, squatting cactus bloomed
everywhere into butter-colored flowers big as tulips in the sand. There
were artesian wells in Mesa, and the water did not taste very good; but
if you drank from the standing pools where the river had been, you
repaired to the drug-store almost immediately. A troop of wandering
players came dotting along the railroad, and, reaching Mesa, played a
brass-band up and down the street, and announced the powerful drama of
"East Lynne." Then Mr. McLean thought of the Lynn marshes that lie
between there and Chelsea, and of the sea that must look so cool. He
forgot them while following the painful fortunes of the Lady Isabel; but,
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Little Britain by Washington Irving: and set off with a miscellaneous array of furniture. I have a
particular respect for three or four high-backed claw-footed
chairs, covered with tarnished brocade, which bear the marks
of having seen better days, and have doubtless figured in some
of the old palaces of Little Britain. They seem to me to keep
together, and to look down with sovereign contempt upon
their leathern-bottomed neighbors: as I have seen decayed
gentry carry a high head among the plebeian society with which
they were reduced to associate. The whole front of my sitting-
room is taken up with a bow-window, on the panes of which
are recorded the names of previous occupants for many
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Deserted Woman by Honore de Balzac: loyalty of the heart.
But these two, once launched forth into the vast of sentiment, went
far indeed in theory, sounding the depths in either soul, testing the
sincerity of their expressions; only, whereas Gaston's experiments
were made unconsciously, Mme. de Beauseant had a purpose in all that
she said. Bringing her natural and acquired subtlety to the work, she
sought to learn M. de Nueil's opinions by advancing, as far as she
could do so, views diametrically opposed to her own. So witty and so
gracious was she, so much herself with this stranger, with whom she
felt completely at ease, because she felt sure that they should never
meet again, that, after some delicious epigram of hers, Gaston
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