Natasha

“She did the right thing with such precision, such complete precision, that Aniysa Fyodorovna, who had at once handed her the handkerchief she needed for the dance, had tears in her eyes, though she laughed as she watched the slim, graceful countess reared in silks and velvets and so different from herself, who yet was able to understand all that was in Aniysa and in Anisya’s father and mother and aunt, and in every Russian man and woman.” –  Tolstoy, War and Peace, trans. L. and A. Maude (1998), p. 546

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