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- Маргарет Митчелл
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- Стр. 413/927
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"
Ah
,
"
said
Melanie
,
sadly
,
"
what
will
the
South
be
like
without
all
our
fine
boys
?
What
would
the
South
have
been
if
they
had
lived
?
We
could
use
their
courage
and
their
energy
and
their
brains
.
Scarlett
,
all
of
us
with
little
boys
must
raise
them
to
take
the
places
of
the
men
who
are
gone
,
to
be
brave
men
like
them
.
"
"
There
will
never
again
be
men
like
them
,
"
said
Carreen
softly
.
"
No
one
can
take
their
places
.
"
They
drove
home
the
rest
of
the
way
in
silence
,
One
day
not
long
after
this
,
Cathleen
Calvert
rode
up
to
Tara
at
sunset
.
Her
sidesaddle
was
strapped
on
as
sorry
a
mule
as
Scarlett
had
ever
seen
,
a
flop-eared
lame
brute
,
and
Cathleen
was
almost
as
sorry
looking
as
the
animal
she
rode
.
Her
dress
was
of
faded
gingham
of
the
type
once
worn
only
by
house
servants
,
and
her
sunbonnet
was
secured
under
her
chin
by
a
piece
of
twine
.
She
rode
up
to
the
front
porch
but
did
not
dismount
,
and
Scarlett
and
Melanie
,
who
had
been
watching
the
sunset
,
went
down
the
steps
to
meet
her
.
Cathleen
was
as
white
as
Cade
had
been
the
day
Scarlett
called
,
white
and
hard
and
brittle
,
as
if
her
face
would
shatter
if
she
spoke
.
But
her
back
was
erect
and
her
head
was
high
as
she
nodded
to
them
.
Scarlett
suddenly
remembered
the
day
of
the
Wilkes
barbecue
when
she
and
Cathleen
had
whispered
together
about
Rhett
Butler
.
How
pretty
and
fresh
Cathleen
had
been
that
day
in
a
swirl
of
blue
organdie
with
fragrant
roses
at
her
sash
and
little
black
velvet
slippers
laced
about
her
small
ankles
.
And
now
there
was
not
a
trace
of
that
girl
in
the
stiff
figure
sitting
on
the
mule
.
"
I
wo
n't
get
down
,
thank
you
,
"
she
said
.
"
I
just
came
to
tell
you
that
I
'm
going
to
be
married
.
"
"
What
!
"
"
Who
to
?
"
"
Cathy
,
how
grand
!
"
