“It seemed to be getting lighter. To the left he could see a moonlit hillside and a black slope opposite that looked as steep as a wall. On this slope there was a white patch which Rostov couldn’t make out at all—was it a clearing the the wood catching the moonlight, some snow that hadn’t melted or white houses? He could have sworn there was something moving across the white patch. ‘It must be snow, or could it be white ash? . . . Why tash . . .?’ Rostov mused dreamily. ‘Not white ash . . . Tash . . . Na-tasha . . . sister . . . black eyes. Na-tasha. (Imagine her surprise when I tell her I’ve seen the Emperor!) Natasha . . . tasha . . .’ ”