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- Маргарет Митчелл
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- Стр. 353/927
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Hers
was
not
the
only
troublesome
appetite
at
Tara
,
for
wherever
she
turned
hungry
faces
,
black
and
white
,
met
her
eyes
.
Soon
Carreen
and
Suellen
would
have
the
insatiable
hunger
of
typhoid
convalescents
.
Already
little
Wade
whined
monotonously
:
"
Wade
doan
like
yams
.
Wade
hungwy
.
"
The
others
grumbled
,
too
:
"
Miss
Scarlett
,
'
ness
I
gits
mo
'
to
eat
,
I
kain
nuss
neither
of
these
chillun
.
"
"
Miss
Scarlett
,
ef
Ah
doan
have
mo
'
in
mah
stummick
,
Ah
kain
split
no
wood
.
"
"
Lamb
,
Ah
's
perishin
'
fer
real
vittles
.
"
"
Daughter
,
must
we
always
have
yams
?
"
Only
Melanie
did
not
complain
,
Melanie
whose
face
grew
thinner
and
whiter
and
twitched
with
pain
even
in
her
sleep
.
"
I
'm
not
hungry
,
Scarlett
.
Give
my
share
of
the
milk
to
Dilcey
.
She
needs
it
to
nurse
the
babies
.
Sick
people
are
never
hungry
.
"
It
was
her
gentle
hardihood
which
irritated
Scarlett
more
than
the
nagging
whining
voices
of
the
others
.
She
could
--
and
did
--
shout
them
down
with
bitter
sarcasm
but
before
Melanie
's
unselfishness
she
was
helpless
,
helpless
and
resentful
.
Gerald
,
the
negroes
and
Wade
clung
to
Melanie
now
,
because
even
in
her
weakness
she
was
kind
and
sympathetic
,
and
these
days
Scarlett
was
neither
.
Wade
especially
haunted
Melanie
's
room
.
There
was
something
wrong
with
Wade
,
but
just
what
it
was
Scarlett
had
no
time
to
discover
.
