Tolstoy

And again he was saying the same words; but this time Natasha in her imagination made him a different answer. She stopped him, and said: "Awful for you, but not for me. You know that I have nothing in life but you, and to suffer with you is the greatest happiness possible for me." And he took her hand and pressed it, just as he had pressed it on that terrible evening four days before his death. And in her imagination she said to him other words of tenderness and love, which she might have said then, which she only said now..."I love thee!!...thee...I love, love thee..." she said, wringing her hands convulsively, and setting her teeth with bitter violence...

And a sweeter mood of sorrow was coming over her, and tears were starting into her eyes; but all at once she asked herself: "To whom was she saying that? Where is he, and what is he now?"

--Natasha Rostov