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- Маргарет Митчелл
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- Стр. 102/927
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They
knew
what
was
decorous
behavior
and
what
was
not
and
they
never
failed
to
make
their
opinions
known
--
Mrs.
Merriwether
at
the
top
of
her
voice
,
Mrs.
Elsing
in
an
elegant
die-away
drawl
and
Mrs.
Whiting
in
a
distressed
whisper
which
showed
how
much
she
hated
to
speak
of
such
things
.
These
three
ladies
disliked
and
distrusted
one
another
as
heartily
as
the
First
Triumvirate
of
Rome
,
and
their
close
alliance
was
probably
for
the
same
reason
.
"
I
told
Pitty
I
had
to
have
you
in
my
hospital
,
"
called
Mrs.
Merriweather
,
smiling
.
"
Do
n't
you
go
promising
Mrs.
Meade
or
Mrs.
Whiting
!
"
"
I
wo
n't
,
"
said
Scarlett
,
having
no
idea
what
Mrs.
Merriwether
was
talking
about
but
feeling
a
glow
of
warmth
at
being
welcomed
and
wanted
.
"
I
hope
to
see
you
again
soon
.
"
The
carriage
plowed
its
way
farther
and
halted
for
a
moment
to
permit
two
ladies
with
baskets
of
bandages
on
their
arms
to
pick
precarious
passages
across
the
sloppy
street
on
stepping
stones
.
At
the
same
moment
,
Scarlett
's
eye
was
caught
by
a
figure
on
the
sidewalk
in
a
brightly
colored
dress
--
too
bright
for
street
wear
--
covered
by
a
Paisley
shawl
with
fringes
to
the
heels
.
Turning
she
saw
a
tall
handsome
woman
with
a
bold
face
and
a
mass
of
red
hair
,
too
red
to
be
true
.
It
was
the
first
time
she
had
ever
seen
any
woman
who
she
knew
for
certain
had
"
done
something
to
her
hair
"
and
she
watched
her
,
fascinated
.
"
Uncle
Peter
,
who
is
that
?
"
she
whispered
.
"
Ah
doan
know
.
"
"
You
do
,
too
.
I
can
tell
.
Who
is
she
?
"
"
Her
name
Belle
Watling
,
"
said
Uncle
Peter
,
his
lower
lip
beginning
to
protrude
.
Scarlett
was
quick
to
catch
the
fact
that
he
had
not
preceded
the
name
with
"
Miss
"
or
"
Mrs.
"
"
Who
is
she
?
"
