plied:

"I do not know how I could spend my time more agreeably. I am always
occupied with her; I am always close to her. I have the inestimable
comfort of being able to think where Ottilie is at each moment--where
she is going, where she is standing, where she is reposing. I see her
moving and acting before me as usual; ever doing or designing something
which is to give me pleasure. But this will not always answer; for how
can I be happy away from her? And then my fancy begins to work; I think
what Ottilie should do to come to me; I write sweet, loving letters in
her name to myself, and then I answer them, and keep the sheets
together. I have promised that I will take no steps to seek her; and
that promise I will keep. But what binds her that she should make no
advances to me I Has Charlotte had the barbarity to exact a promise, to
exact an oath from her, not to write to me, not to send me a word, a
hint, about herself? Very likely she has. It is only natural; and yet to
me it is monstrous, it is horrible. If she loves me--as I think, as I
know that she does--why does she not resolve, why does she not venture
to fly to me, and throw herself into my arms? I often think she ought to
do it; and she could do it. If I ever hear a noise in the hall, I look
toward the door. It must be her--she is coming--I look up to see her.
Alas! because the possible is impossible, I let myself imagine that the
impossible must become possible. At night, when I lie awake, and the
lamp flings an uncertain light about the room, her form, her spirit, a
sense of her presence, sweeps over me, approaches me, seizes me. It is
but for a moment; it is that I may have an assurance that she is
thinking of me, that she is mine. Only one pleasure remains to me. When
I was with her I never dreamt of her; now when I am far away, and, oddly
enough, since I have made the acquaintance of other attractive persons
in this neighborhood, for the first time her figure appears to me in my
dreams, as if she would say to me, 'Look on them, and on me. You will
find none more beautiful, more lovely than I.' And so she is present in
every dream I have. In whatever happens to me with her, we are woven in
and in together. Now we are subscribing a contract together. There is
her hand, and there is mine; there is her name, and there is mine; and
they move one into the other, and seem to devour each other. Sometimes
she does something which injures the pure idea which I have