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- Маргарет Митчелл
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- Стр. 42/927
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"
Jerry
,
there
's
no
girl
in
Savannah
you
'd
have
less
chance
of
marrying
.
Her
father
is
a
Robillard
,
and
those
French
are
proud
as
Lucifer
.
And
her
mother
--
God
rest
her
soul
--
was
a
very
great
lady
.
"
"
I
care
not
,
"
said
Gerald
heatedly
.
"
Besides
,
her
mother
is
dead
,
and
old
man
Robillard
likes
me
.
"
"
As
a
man
,
yes
,
but
as
a
son-inlaw
,
no
.
"
"
The
girl
would
n't
have
you
anyway
,
"
interposed
Andrew
.
"
She
's
been
in
love
with
that
wild
buck
of
a
cousin
of
hers
,
Philippe
Robillard
,
for
a
year
now
,
despite
her
family
being
at
her
morning
and
night
to
give
him
up
.
"
"
He
's
been
gone
to
Louisiana
this
month
now
,
"
said
Gerald
.
"
And
how
do
you
know
?
"
"
I
know
,
"
answered
Gerald
,
who
did
not
care
to
disclose
that
Pork
had
supplied
this
valuable
bit
of
information
,
or
that
Philippe
had
departed
for
the
West
at
the
express
desire
of
his
family
.
"
And
I
do
not
think
she
's
been
so
much
in
love
with
him
that
she
wo
n't
forget
him
.
Fifteen
is
too
young
to
know
much
about
love
.
"
"
They
'd
rather
have
that
breakneck
cousin
for
her
than
you
.
"
So
,
James
and
Andrew
were
as
startled
as
anyone
when
the
news
came
out
that
the
daughter
of
Pierre
Robillard
was
to
marry
the
little
Irishman
from
up
the
country
.
Savannah
buzzed
behind
its
doors
and
speculated
about
Philippe
Robillard
,
who
had
gone
West
,
but
the
gossiping
brought
no
answer
.
Why
the
loveliest
of
the
Robillard
daughters
should
marry
a
loud-voiced
,
red-faced
little
man
who
came
hardly
up
to
her
ears
remained
a
mystery
to
all
.
