Thefe words were a thunder-ftroke to Charlotte ; flie got up, and tottering, walked flowly to the wall, with a trembling hand took down the piftols, and by degrees wiped off the duft. She would have made ftill more delay, had not a look from Albert obliged...
The Sorrows of Werter: A German Story - Page 157
by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe - 1779
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