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- Маргарет Митчелл
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- Стр. 266/927
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The
air
was
oppressive
even
in
the
early
morning
hour
,
hot
with
the
scorching
promise
of
a
noon
of
glaring
blue
sky
and
pitiless
bronze
sun
.
The
road
outside
lay
silent
.
No
wagons
creaked
by
.
No
troops
raised
the
red
dust
with
their
tramping
feet
.
There
were
no
sounds
of
negroes
'
lazy
voices
in
neighboring
kitchens
,
no
pleasant
sounds
of
breakfasts
being
prepared
,
for
all
the
near
neighbors
except
Mrs.
Meade
and
Mrs.
Merriwether
had
refugeed
to
Macon
.
And
she
could
hear
nothing
from
their
houses
either
.
Farther
down
the
street
the
business
section
was
quiet
and
many
of
the
stores
and
offices
were
locked
and
boarded
up
,
while
their
occupants
were
somewhere
about
the
countryside
with
rifles
in
their
hands
.
The
stillness
that
greeted
her
seemed
even
more
sinister
this
morning
than
on
any
of
the
mornings
of
the
queer
quiet
week
preceding
it
.
She
rose
hastily
,
without
her
usual
preliminary
burrowings
and
stretchings
,
and
went
to
the
window
,
hoping
to
see
some
neighbor
's
face
,
some
heartening
sight
.
But
the
road
was
empty
.
She
noted
how
the
leaves
on
the
trees
were
still
dark
green
but
dry
and
heavily
coated
with
red
dust
,
and
how
withered
and
sad
the
untended
flowers
in
the
front
yard
looked
.
As
she
stood
,
looking
out
of
the
window
,
there
came
to
her
ears
a
far-off
sound
,
faint
and
sullen
as
the
first
distant
thunder
of
an
approaching
storm
.
"
Rain
,
"
she
thought
in
the
first
moment
,
and
her
country-bred
mind
added
,
"
we
certainly
need
it
.
"
But
,
in
a
split
instant
:
"
Rain
?
No
!
Not
rain
!
Cannon
!
"
Her
heart
racing
,
she
leaned
from
the
window
,
her
ear
cocked
to
the
far-off
roaring
,
trying
to
discover
from
which
direction
it
came
.
But
the
dim
thundering
was
so
distant
that
,
for
a
moment
,
she
could
not
tell
.
"
Make
it
from
Marietta
,
Lord
!
"
she
prayed
.
"
Or
Decatur
.
Or
Peachtree
Creek
.
But
not
from
the
south
!
Not
from
the
south
!
"
She
gripped
the
window
still
tighter
and
strained
her
ears
and
the
far-away
booming
seemed
louder
.
And
it
was
coming
from
the
south
.
Cannon
to
the
south
!
And
to
the
south
lay
Jonesboro
and
Tara
--
and
Ellen
.
Yankees
perhaps
at
Tara
,
now
,
this
minute
!
She
listened
again
but
the
blood
thudding
in
her
ears
all
but
blurred
out
the
sound
of
far-off
firing
.
No
,
they
could
n't
be
at
Jonesboro
yet
.
If
they
were
that
far
away
,
the
sound
would
be
fainter
,
more
indistinct
.
But
they
must
be
at
least
ten
miles
down
the
road
toward
Jonesboro
,
probably
near
the
little
settlement
of
Rough
and
Ready
.
But
Jonesboro
was
scarcely
more
than
ten
miles
below
Rough
and
Ready
.
Cannon
to
the
south
,
and
they
might
be
tolling
the
knell
of
Atlanta
's
fall
.
But
to
Scarlett
,
sick
for
her
mother
's
safety
,
fighting
to
the
south
only
meant
fighting
near
Tara
.
She
walked
the
floor
and
wrung
her
hands
and
for
the
first
time
the
thought
in
all
its
implications
came
to
her
that
the
gray
army
might
be
defeated
.
It
was
the
thought
of
Sherman
's
thousands
so
close
to
Tara
that
brought
it
all
home
to
her
,
brought
the
full
horror
of
the
war
to
her
as
no
sound
of
siege
guns
shattering
windowpanes
,
no
privations
of
food
and
clothing
and
no
endless
rows
of
dying
men
had
done
.
Sherman
's
army
within
a
few
miles
of
Tara
!
And
even
if
the
Yankees
should
be
defeated
,
they
might
fall
back
down
the
road
to
Tara
.
And
Gerald
could
n't
possibly
refugee
out
of
their
way
with
three
sick
women
.
Oh
,
if
she
were
only
there
now
,
Yankees
or
not
.
She
paced
the
floor
in
her
bare
feet
,
her
nightgown
clinging
to
her
legs
and
the
more
she
walked
the
stronger
became
her
foreboding
.
She
wanted
to
be
at
home
.
She
wanted
to
be
near
Ellen
.
