-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Маргарет Митчелл
-
- Унесенные ветром
-
- Стр. 274/927
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
"
I
do
n't
know
.
I
'm
telling
you
to
ask
for
news
.
"
"
Gawdlmighty
,
Miss
Scarlett
!
Whut
'll
dey
do
ter
Maw
?
"
Prissy
began
to
bawl
suddenly
,
loudly
,
the
sound
adding
to
Scarlett
's
own
uneasiness
.
"
Stop
bawling
!
Miss
Melanie
will
hear
you
.
Now
go
change
your
apron
,
quick
.
"
Spurred
to
speed
,
Prissy
hurried
toward
the
back
of
the
house
while
Scarlett
scratched
a
hasty
note
on
the
margin
of
Gerald
's
last
letter
to
her
--
the
only
bit
of
paper
in
the
house
.
As
she
folded
it
,
so
that
her
note
was
uppermost
,
she
caught
Gerald
's
words
,
"
Your
mother
--
typhoid
--
under
no
condition
--
to
come
home
--
"
She
almost
sobbed
.
If
it
was
n't
for
Melanie
,
she
'd
start
home
,
right
this
minute
,
if
she
had
to
walk
every
step
of
the
way
.
Prissy
went
off
at
a
trot
,
the
letter
gripped
in
her
hand
,
and
Scarlett
went
back
upstairs
,
trying
to
think
of
some
plausible
lie
to
explain
Mrs.
Elsing
's
failure
to
appear
.
But
Melanie
asked
no
questions
.
She
lay
upon
her
back
,
her
face
tranquil
and
sweet
,
and
the
sight
of
her
quieted
Scarlett
for
a
while
.
She
sat
down
and
tried
to
talk
of
inconsequential
things
,
but
the
thoughts
of
Tara
and
a
possible
defeat
by
the
Yankees
prodded
cruelly
.
She
thought
of
Ellen
dying
and
of
the
Yankees
coming
into
Atlanta
,
burning
everything
,
killing
everybody
.
Through
it
all
,
the
dull
far-off
thundering
persisted
,
rolling
into
her
ears
in
waves
of
fear
.
Finally
,
she
could
not
talk
at
all
and
only
stared
out
of
the
window
at
the
hot
still
street
and
the
dusty
leaves
hanging
motionless
on
the
trees
.
Melanie
was
silent
too
,
but
at
intervals
her
quiet
face
was
wrenched
with
pain
.
She
said
,
after
each
pain
:
"
It
was
n't
very
bad
,
really
,
"
and
Scarlett
knew
she
was
lying
.
She
would
have
preferred
a
loud
scream
to
silent
endurance
.
She
knew
she
should
feel
sorry
for
Melanie
,
but
somehow
she
could
not
muster
a
spark
of
sympathy
.
Her
mind
was
too
torn
with
her
own
anguish
.
Once
she
looked
sharply
at
the
pain-twisted
face
and
wondered
why
it
should
be
that
she
,
of
all
people
in
the
world
,
should
be
here
with
Melanie
at
this
particular
time
--
she
who
had
nothing
in
common
with
her
,
who
hated
her
,
who
would
gladly
have
seen
her
dead
.
Well
,
maybe
she
'd
have
her
wish
,
and
before
the
day
was
over
too
.
A
cold
superstitious
fear
swept
her
at
this
thought
.
It
was
bad
luck
to
wish
that
someone
were
dead
,
almost
as
bad
luck
as
to
curse
someone
.
Curses
came
home
to
roost
,
Mammy
said
.
She
hastily
prayed
that
Melanie
would
n't
die
and
broke
into
feverish
small
talk
,
hardly
aware
of
what
she
said
.
At
last
,
Melanie
put
a
hot
hand
on
her
wrist
.
"
Do
n't
bother
about
talking
,
dear
.
I
know
how
worried
you
are
.
I
'm
so
sorry
I
'm
so
much
trouble
.
"
