-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Маргарет Митчелл
-
- Унесенные ветром
-
- Стр. 346/927
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
All
had
suffered
crushing
misfortunes
and
had
not
been
crushed
.
They
had
not
been
broken
by
the
crash
of
empires
,
the
machetes
of
revolting
slaves
,
war
,
rebellion
,
proscription
,
confiscation
.
Malign
fate
had
broken
their
necks
,
perhaps
,
but
never
their
hearts
.
They
had
not
whined
,
they
had
fought
.
And
when
they
died
,
they
died
spent
but
unquenched
.
All
of
those
shadowy
folks
whose
blood
flowed
in
her
veins
seemed
to
move
quietly
in
the
moonlit
room
.
And
Scarlett
was
not
surprised
to
see
them
,
these
kinsmen
who
had
taken
the
worst
that
fate
could
send
and
hammered
it
into
the
best
.
Tara
was
her
fate
,
her
fight
,
and
she
must
conquer
it
.
She
turned
drowsily
on
her
side
,
a
slow
creeping
blackness
enveloping
her
mind
Were
they
really
there
,
whispering
wordless
encouragement
to
her
,
or
was
this
part
of
her
dream
?
"
Whether
you
are
there
or
not
,
"
she
murmured
sleepily
,
"
good
night
--
and
thank
you
.
"
The
next
morning
Scarlett
's
body
was
so
stiff
and
sore
from
the
long
miles
of
walking
and
jolting
in
the
wagon
that
every
movement
was
agony
.
Her
face
was
crimson
with
sunburn
and
her
blistered
palms
raw
.
Her
tongue
was
furred
and
her
throat
parched
as
if
flames
had
scorched
it
and
no
amount
of
water
could
assuage
her
thirst
.
Her
head
felt
swollen
and
she
winced
even
when
she
turned
her
eyes
.
A
queasiness
of
the
stomach
reminiscent
of
the
early
days
of
her
pregnancy
made
the
smoking
yams
on
the
breakfast
table
unendurable
,
even
to
the
smell
.
Gerald
could
have
told
her
she
was
suffering
the
normal
aftermath
of
her
first
experience
with
hard
drinking
but
Gerald
noticed
nothing
.
He
sat
at
the
head
of
the
table
,
a
gray
old
man
with
absent
,
faded
eyes
fastened
on
the
door
and
head
cocked
slightly
to
hear
the
rustle
of
Ellen
's
petticoats
,
to
smell
the
lemon
verbena
sachet
.
As
Scarlett
sat
down
,
he
mumbled
:
"
We
will
wait
for
Mrs.
O'Hara
.
She
is
late
.
"
She
raised
an
aching
head
,
looked
at
him
with
startled
incredulity
and
met
the
pleading
eyes
of
Mammy
,
who
stood
behind
Gerald
's
chair
.
She
rose
unsteadily
,
her
hand
at
her
throat
and
looked
down
at
her
father
in
the
morning
sunlight
.
He
peered
up
at
her
vaguely
and
she
saw
that
his
hands
were
shaking
,
that
his
head
trembled
a
little
.
Until
this
moment
she
had
not
realized
how
much
she
had
counted
on
Gerald
to
take
command
,
to
tell
her
what
she
must
do
,
and
now
--
Why
,
last
night
he
had
seemed
almost
himself
.
There
had
been
none
of
his
usual
bluster
and
vitality
,
but
at
least
he
had
told
a
connected
story
and
now
--
now
,
he
did
not
even
remember
Ellen
was
dead
.
The
combined
shock
of
the
coming
of
the
Yankees
and
her
death
had
stunned
him
.
She
started
to
speak
,
but
Mammy
shook
her
head
vehemently
and
raising
her
apron
dabbed
at
her
red
eyes
.
"
Oh
,
can
Pa
have
lost
his
mind
?
"
thought
Scarlett
and
her
throbbing
head
felt
as
if
it
would
crack
with
this
added
strain
.
"
No
,
no
.
He
's
just
dazed
by
it
all
.
It
's
like
he
was
sick
.
He
'll
get
over
it
.
He
must
get
over
it
.
What
will
I
do
if
he
does
n't
?
--
I
wo
n't
think
about
it
now
.
I
wo
n't
think
of
him
or
Mother
or
any
of
these
awful
things
now
.
No
,
not
till
I
can
stand
it
.
There
are
too
many
other
things
to
think
about
--
things
that
can
be
helped
without
my
thinking
of
those
I
ca
n't
help
.
"
She
left
the
dining
room
without
eating
,
and
went
out
onto
the
back
porch
where
she
found
Pork
,
barefooted
and
in
the
ragged
remains
of
his
best
livery
,
sitting
on
the
steps
cracking
peanuts
.
Her
head
was
hammering
and
throbbing
and
the
bright
,
sunlight
stabbed
into
her
eyes
.
Merely
holding
herself
erect
required
an
effort
of
will
power
and
she
talked
as
briefly
as
possible
,
dispensing
with
the
usual
forms
of
courtesy
her
mother
had
always
taught
her
to
use
with
negroes
.
