She put both her hands on his shoulders and gazed at him long, with a deep look of ecstasy and yet searchingly. She scrutinized his face to make up for the time she had not seen him. She compared, as she did at every interview with him, the image her fancy painted of him {incomparably finer than, and impossible in actual existence} with his real self
( Leo Tolstoy )
[ Anna Karenina ]
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