| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Country of the Pointed Firs by Sarah Orne Jewett: they met her face to face.
The bay-sheltered islands and the great sea beyond stretched
away to the far horizon southward and eastward; the little
procession in the foreground looked futile and helpless on the edge
of the rocky shore. It was a glorious day early in July, with a
clear, high sky; there were no clouds, there was no noise of the
sea. The song sparrows sang and sang, as if with joyous knowledge
of immortality, and contempt for those who could so pettily concern
themselves with death. I stood watching until the funeral
procession had crept round a shoulder of the slope below and
disappeared from the great landscape as if it had gone into a cave.
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Emma by Jane Austen: the trouble of conquering any body's reserve to procure one.
Intimacy between Miss Fairfax and me is quite out of the question.
I have no reason to think ill of her--not the least--except that
such extreme and perpetual cautiousness of word and manner,
such a dread of giving a distinct idea about any body, is apt
to suggest suspicions of there being something to conceal."
He perfectly agreed with her: and after walking together so long,
and thinking so much alike, Emma felt herself so well acquainted with him,
that she could hardly believe it to be only their second meeting.
He was not exactly what she had expected; less of the man of the
world in some of his notions, less of the spoiled child of fortune,
Emma |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Scaramouche by Rafael Sabatini: deference to the ladies when they entered. He was there, he would
have told you, to perform the duties of his office, not to give
dancing-lessons.
"Plougastel," he repeated after her, without title, as if it had
been the name of a butcher or baker. He took down a heavy volume
from a shelf on his right, opened it and turned the pages. It was
a sort of directory of his section. Presently he found what he
sought. "Comte de Plougastel, Hotel Plougastel, Rue du Paradis.
Is that it?"
"That is correct, monsieur," she answered, with what civility she
could muster before the fellow's affronting rudeness.
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