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- Маргарет Митчелл
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- Стр. 34/927
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As
far
back
as
Scarlett
could
remember
,
her
mother
had
always
been
the
same
,
her
voice
soft
and
sweet
whether
in
praising
or
in
reproving
,
her
manner
efficient
and
unruffled
despite
the
daily
emergencies
of
Gerald
's
turbulent
household
,
her
spirit
always
calm
and
her
back
unbowed
,
even
in
the
deaths
of
her
three
baby
sons
.
Scarlett
had
never
seen
her
mother
's
back
touch
the
back
of
any
chair
on
which
she
sat
.
Nor
had
she
ever
seen
her
sit
down
without
a
bit
of
needlework
in
her
hands
,
except
at
mealtime
,
while
attending
the
sick
or
while
working
at
the
bookkeeping
of
the
plantation
.
It
was
delicate
embroidery
if
company
were
present
,
but
at
other
times
her
hands
were
occupied
with
Gerald
's
ruffled
shirts
,
the
girls
'
dresses
or
garments
for
the
slaves
.
Scarlett
could
not
imagine
her
mother
's
hands
without
her
gold
thimble
or
her
rustling
figure
unaccompanied
by
the
small
negro
girl
whose
sole
function
in
life
was
to
remove
basting
threads
and
carry
the
rosewood
sewing
box
from
room
to
room
,
as
Ellen
moved
about
the
house
superintending
the
cooking
,
the
cleaning
and
the
wholesale
clothes-making
for
the
plantation
.
She
had
never
seen
her
mother
stirred
from
her
austere
placidity
,
nor
her
personal
appointments
anything
but
perfect
,
no
matter
what
the
hour
of
day
or
night
.
When
Ellen
was
dressing
for
a
ball
or
for
guests
or
even
to
go
to
Jonesboro
for
Court
Day
,
it
frequently
required
two
hours
,
two
maids
and
Mammy
to
turn
her
out
to
her
own
satisfaction
;
but
her
swift
toilets
in
times
of
emergency
were
amazing
.
Scarlett
,
whose
room
lay
across
the
hall
from
her
mother
's
,
knew
from
babyhood
the
soft
sound
of
scurrying
bare
black
feet
on
the
hardwood
floor
in
the
hours
of
dawn
,
the
urgent
tappings
on
her
mother
's
door
,
and
the
muffled
,
frightened
negro
voices
that
whispered
of
sickness
and
birth
and
death
in
the
long
row
of
whitewashed
cabins
in
the
quarters
.
As
a
child
,
she
often
had
crept
to
the
door
and
,
peeping
through
the
tiniest
crack
,
had
seen
Ellen
emerge
from
the
dark
room
,
where
Gerald
's
snores
were
rhythmic
and
untroubled
,
into
the
flickering
light
of
an
upheld
candle
,
her
medicine
case
under
her
arm
,
her
hair
smoothed
neatly
place
,
and
no
button
on
her
basque
unlooped
.
It
had
always
been
so
soothing
to
Scarlett
to
hear
her
mother
whisper
,
firmly
but
compassionately
,
as
she
tiptoed
down
the
hall
:
"
Hush
,
not
so
loudly
.
You
will
wake
Mr.
O'Hara
.
They
are
not
sick
enough
to
die
.
"
Yes
,
it
was
good
to
creep
back
into
bed
and
know
that
Ellen
was
abroad
in
the
night
and
everything
was
right
.
In
the
mornings
,
after
all-night
sessions
at
births
and
deaths
,
when
old
Dr.
Fontaine
and
young
Dr.
Fontaine
were
both
out
on
calls
and
could
not
be
found
to
help
her
,
Ellen
presided
at
the
breakfast
table
as
usual
,
her
dark
eyes
circled
with
weariness
but
her
voice
and
manner
revealing
none
of
the
strain
.
There
was
a
steely
quality
under
her
stately
gentleness
that
awed
the
whole
household
,
Gerald
as
well
as
the
girls
,
though
he
would
have
died
rather
than
admit
it
.
Sometimes
when
Scarlett
tiptoed
at
night
to
kiss
her
tall
mother
's
cheek
,
she
looked
up
at
the
mouth
with
its
too
short
,
too
tender
upper
lip
,
a
mouth
too
easily
hurt
by
the
world
,
and
wondered
if
it
had
ever
curved
in
silly
girlish
giggling
or
whispered
secrets
through
long
nights
to
intimate
girl
friends
.
But
no
,
that
was
n't
possible
.
Mother
had
always
been
just
as
she
was
,
a
pillar
of
strength
,
a
fount
of
wisdom
,
the
one
person
who
knew
the
answers
to
everything
.
But
Scarlett
was
wrong
,
for
,
years
before
,
Ellen
Robillard
of
Savannah
had
giggled
as
inexplicably
as
any
fifteen-year-old
in
that
charming
coastal
city
and
whispered
the
long
nights
through
with
friends
,
exchanging
confidences
,
telling
all
secrets
but
one
.
That
was
the
year
when
Gerald
O'Hara
,
twenty-eight
years
older
than
she
,
came
into
her
life
--
the
year
,
too
,
when
youth
and
her
black-eyed
cousin
,
Philippe
Robillard
,
went
out
of
it
.
For
when
Philippe
,
with
his
snapping
eyes
and
his
wild
ways
,
left
Savannah
forever
,
he
took
with
him
the
glow
that
was
in
Ellen
's
heart
and
left
for
the
bandy-legged
little
Irishman
who
married
her
only
a
gentle
shell
.
