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- Стр. 357/927
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The
trampled
acres
of
Tara
were
all
that
was
left
to
her
,
now
that
Mother
and
Ashley
were
gone
,
now
that
Gerald
was
senile
from
shock
,
and
money
and
darkies
and
security
and
position
had
vanished
overnight
.
As
from
another
world
she
remembered
a
conversation
with
her
father
about
the
land
and
wondered
how
she
could
have
been
so
young
,
so
ignorant
,
as
not
to
understand
what
he
meant
when
he
said
that
the
land
was
the
one
thing
in
the
world
worth
fighting
for
"
For
'
tis
the
only
thing
in
the
world
that
lasts
...
and
to
anyone
with
a
drop
of
Irish
blood
in
them
the
land
they
live
on
is
like
their
mother
...
.
'
Tis
the
only
thing
worth
working
for
,
fighting
for
,
dying
for
.
"
Yes
,
Tara
was
worth
fighting
for
,
and
she
accepted
simply
and
without
question
the
fight
.
No
one
was
going
to
get
Tara
away
from
her
.
No
one
was
going
to
set
her
and
her
people
adrift
on
the
charity
of
relatives
.
She
would
hold
Tara
,
if
she
had
to
break
the
back
of
every
person
on
it
.
Scarlett
had
been
at
Tara
two
weeks
since
her
return
from
Atlanta
when
the
largest
blister
on
her
foot
began
to
fester
,
swelling
until
it
was
impossible
for
her
to
put
on
her
shoe
or
do
more
than
hobble
about
on
her
heel
.
Desperation
plucked
at
her
when
she
looked
at
the
angry
sore
on
her
toe
.
Suppose
it
should
gangrene
like
the
soldiers
'
wounds
and
she
should
die
,
far
away
from
a
doctor
?
Bitter
as
life
was
now
,
she
had
no
desire
to
leave
it
.
And
who
would
look
after
Tara
if
she
should
die
?
She
had
hoped
when
she
first
came
home
that
Gerald
's
old
spirit
would
revive
and
he
would
take
command
,
but
in
these
two
weeks
that
hope
had
vanished
.
She
knew
now
that
,
whether
she
liked
it
or
not
,
she
had
the
plantation
and
all
its
people
on
her
two
inexperienced
hands
,
for
Gerald
still
sat
quietly
,
like
a
man
in
a
dream
,
so
frighteningly
absent
from
Tara
,
so
gentle
.
To
her
pleas
for
advice
he
gave
as
his
only
answer
:
"
Do
what
you
think
best
,
Daughter
.
"
Or
worse
still
,
"
Consult
with
your
mother
,
Puss
.
"
He
never
would
be
any
different
and
now
Scarlett
realized
the
truth
and
accepted
it
without
emotion
--
that
until
he
died
Gerald
would
always
be
waiting
for
Ellen
,
always
listening
for
her
.
He
was
in
some
dim
borderline
country
where
time
was
standing
still
and
Ellen
was
always
in
the
next
room
.
The
mainspring
of
his
existence
was
taken
away
when
she
died
and
with
it
had
gone
his
bounding
assurance
,
his
impudence
and
his
restless
vitality
.
Ellen
was
the
audience
before
which
the
blustering
drama
of
Gerald
O'Hara
had
been
played
.
Now
the
curtain
had
been
rung
down
forever
,
the
footlights
dimmed
and
the
audience
suddenly
vanished
,
while
the
stunned
old
actor
remained
on
his
empty
stage
,
waiting
for
his
cues
.
That
morning
the
house
was
still
,
for
everyone
except
Scarlett
,
Wade
and
the
three
sick
girls
was
in
the
swamp
hunting
the
sow
.
Even
Gerald
had
aroused
a
little
and
stumped
off
across
the
furrowed
fields
,
one
hand
on
Pork
's
arm
and
a
coil
of
rope
in
the
other
.
Suellen
and
Careen
had
cried
themselves
to
sleep
,
as
they
did
at
least
twice
a
day
when
they
thought
of
Ellen
,
tears
of
grief
and
weakness
oozing
down
their
sunken
cheeks
.
Melanie
,
who
had
been
propped
up
on
pillows
for
the
first
time
that
day
,
lay
covered
with
a
mended
sheet
between
two
babies
,
the
downy
flaxen
head
of
one
cuddled
in
her
arm
,
the
kinky
black
head
of
Dilcey
's
child
held
as
gently
in
the
other
.
Wade
sat
at
the
bottom
of
the
bed
,
listening
to
a
fairy
story
.
To
Scarlett
,
the
stillness
at
Tara
was
unbearable
,
for
it
reminded
her
too
sharply
of
the
deathlike
stillness
of
the
desolate
country
through
which
she
had
passed
that
long
day
on
her
way
home
from
Atlanta
.
The
cow
and
the
calf
had
made
no
sound
for
hours
.
There
were
no
birds
twittering
outside
her
window
and
even
the
noisy
family
of
mockers
who
had
lived
among
the
harshly
rustling
leaves
of
the
magnolia
for
generations
had
no
song
that
day
.
She
had
drawn
a
low
chair
close
to
the
open
window
of
her
bedroom
,
looking
out
on
the
front
drive
,
the
lawn
and
the
empty
green
pasture
across
the
road
,
and
she
sat
with
her
skirts
well
above
her
knees
and
her
chin
resting
on
her
arms
on
the
window
sill
.
There
was
a
bucket
of
well
water
on
the
floor
beside
her
and
every
now
and
then
she
lowered
her
blistered
foot
into
it
,
screwing
up
her
face
at
the
stinging
sensation
.
