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- Маргарет Митчелл
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From
the
shadows
,
Scarlett
glared
at
her
,
too
tired
to
rail
,
too
tired
to
upbraid
,
too
tired
to
enumerate
Prissy
's
offenses
--
her
boastful
assumption
of
experience
she
did
n't
possess
,
her
fright
,
her
blundering
awkwardness
,
her
utter
inefficiency
when
the
emergency
was
hot
,
the
misplacing
of
the
scissors
,
the
spilling
of
the
basin
of
water
on
the
bed
,
the
dropping
of
the
new
born
baby
.
And
now
she
bragged
about
how
good
she
had
been
.
And
the
Yankees
wanted
to
free
the
negroes
!
Well
,
the
Yankees
were
welcome
to
them
.
She
lay
back
against
the
pillar
in
silence
and
Prissy
,
aware
of
her
mood
,
tiptoed
away
into
the
darkness
of
the
porch
.
After
a
long
interval
in
which
her
breathing
finally
quieted
and
her
mind
steadied
,
Scarlett
heard
the
sound
of
faint
voices
from
up
the
road
,
the
tramping
of
many
feet
coming
from
the
north
.
Soldiers
!
She
sat
up
slowly
,
pulling
down
her
skirts
,
although
she
knew
no
one
could
see
her
in
the
darkness
.
As
they
came
abreast
the
house
,
an
indeterminate
number
,
passing
like
shadows
,
she
called
to
them
.
"
Oh
,
please
!
"
A
shadow
disengaged
itself
from
the
mass
and
came
to
the
gate
.
"
Are
you
going
?
Are
you
leaving
us
?
"
The
shadow
seemed
to
take
off
a
hat
and
a
quiet
voice
came
from
the
darkness
.
"
Yes
,
Ma
'm
.
That
's
what
we
're
doing
.
We
're
the
last
of
the
men
from
the
breastworks
,
'
bout
a
mile
north
from
here
.
"
"
Are
you
--
is
the
army
really
retreating
?
"
