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The Sorrows of Werter

By Johann Wolfgang Goethe



November 20.

CHARLOTTE does not know, does not feel, that she is preparing for me a poison that will destroy us both; and this deadly poison which he presents to me I swallow in large draughts. What mean those looks of kindness which she sometimes bestows upon me, that complacency with which she hears the sentiments that sometimes escape me, and the tender pity which appears in her countenance? Yesterday when I took leave of her, she held out her hand to me, and said, "Adieu, my dear Werter." -- Dear Werter! -- It was the first time she had ever called me dear; the sound sunk deep into my heart: I have repeated it a hundred times since; and when I went to bed, I said, "Good night, my dear Werter." -- I recollected myself, and laughed.