| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Tom Grogan by F. Hopkinson Smith: ears. The Swede was scraping his sides with the currycomb, and
the Big Gray, accustomed to Cully's gentler touch, was resenting
the familiarity by biting at the tippet wound about the neck of
the young man.
Suddenly Carl raised his head--he had caught a glimpse of a flying
apron whipping round the stable door. He knew the pattern. It
always gave him a lump in his throat, and some little creepings
down his back when he saw it. Then he laid down the currycomb.
The next instant there came a sound as of a barrel-head knocked in
by a mixing-shovel, and Stumpy flew through the door, followed by
Carl on the run. The familiar bit of calico was Jennie's lost
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Roads of Destiny by O. Henry: pardner, why, you might be shy one when you needed him. But Bob was a
man who was willing to go further than that. He never played a limit.
"Twenty years ago I was sheriff of this country, and I made Bob my
chief deputy. That was before the boom in cattle when we both made our
stake. I was sheriff and collector, and it was a big thing for me
then. I was married, and we had a boy and a girl--a four and a six
year old. There was a comfortable house next to the courthouse,
furnished by the county, rent free, and I was saving some money. Bob
did most of the office work. Both of us had seen rough times and
plenty of rustling and danger, and I tell you it was great to hear the
rain and the sleet dashing against the windows of nights, and be warm
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Across The Plains by Robert Louis Stevenson: on the appearance of a hunchback. Cernay had Pelouse, the
admirable, placid Pelouse, smilingly critical of youth, who, when a
full-blown commercial traveller, suddenly threw down his samples,
bought a colour-box, and became the master whom we have all
admired. Marlotte, for a central figure, boasted Olivier de Penne.
Only Barbizon, since the death of Millet, was a headless
commonwealth. Even its secondary lights, and those who in my day
made the stranger welcome, have since deserted it. The good
Lachevre has departed, carrying his household gods; and long before
that Gaston Lafenestre was taken from our midst by an untimely
death. He died before he had deserved success; it may be, he would
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