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阅读理解
I met Connie the day she was admitted to the hospital ward, where I worked as a volunteer．Her husband, Bill, stood nervously nearby．Although Connie was in the final stages of her fight against cancer, she was cheerful．We got her settled in．As we became acquainted, she told me that how frustrating it was to be married 32 years to a man who often called her “a silly woman”．
“Oh, I know Bill loves me, ”she said, “but he has never been one to say he loves me, or send cards to me．”
Bill visited Connie every day．When she began sleeping more, he paced up and down the hallway outside her room．Soon, when she no longer watched television and had fewer waking moments, I began spending more of my volunteer time with Bill．He said he could not express his feelings about the fact that his wife was dying．
One day, I got him on the subject of women and how we need romance in our lives；how we love to get sentimental cards and love letters．
“Do you tell Connie you love her? ” I asked(knowing his answer), and he looked at me as if I was crazy．
“I don’t have to, ”he said．“She knows I do! ”
“I’m sure she knows, ”I said, “but she needs to hear what she has meant to you all these years．Please think about it．”
Two days later I walked down the hospital ward at noon．There stood Bill, leaning up against the wall in the hallway, staring at the floor．I already knew from the head nurse that Connie had died at 11 a. m.．
When Bill saw me, he allowed himself to come into my arms for a long time．His face was wet with tears and he was trembling．“I have to say something．”he said．“I have to say how good I feel about telling her．”
I went into the room to say my own goodbye to Connie．There, on the bedside table, was a large Valentine card saying, “To my wonderful wife…I love you．”
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