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- Маргарет Митчелл
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- Стр. 281/927
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"
Dr.
Meade
!
Is
Dr.
Meade
there
?
"
From
the
group
one
man
detached
himself
and
looked
toward
her
.
It
was
the
doctor
.
He
was
coatless
and
his
sleeves
were
rolled
up
to
his
shoulders
.
His
shirt
and
trousers
were
as
red
as
a
butcher
's
and
even
the
end
of
his
iron-gray
beard
was
matted
with
blood
.
His
face
was
the
face
of
a
man
drunk
with
fatigue
and
impotent
rage
and
burning
pity
.
It
was
gray
and
dusty
,
and
sweat
had
streaked
long
rivulets
across
his
cheeks
.
But
his
voice
was
calm
and
decisive
as
he
called
to
her
.
"
Thank
God
,
you
are
here
.
I
can
use
every
pair
of
hands
.
"
For
a
moment
she
stared
at
him
bewildered
,
dropping
her
skirts
in
dismay
.
They
fell
over
the
dirty
face
of
a
wounded
man
who
feebly
tried
to
turn
his
head
to
escape
from
their
smothering
folds
.
What
did
the
doctor
mean
?
The
dust
from
the
ambulances
came
into
her
face
with
choking
dryness
,
and
the
rotten
smells
were
like
a
foul
liquid
in
her
nostrils
.
"
Hurry
,
child
!
Come
here
.
"
She
picked
up
her
skirts
and
went
to
him
as
fast
as
she
could
go
across
the
rows
of
bodies
.
She
put
her
hand
on
his
arm
and
felt
that
it
was
trembling
with
weariness
but
there
was
no
weakness
in
his
face
.
"
Oh
,
Doctor
!
"
she
cried
.
"
You
must
come
.
Melanie
is
having
her
baby
.
"
He
looked
at
her
as
if
her
words
did
not
register
on
his
mind
.
A
man
who
lay
upon
the
ground
at
her
feet
,
his
head
pillowed
on
his
canteen
,
grinned
up
companionably
at
her
words
.
"
They
will
do
it
,
"
he
said
cheerfully
.
