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- Маргарет Митчелл
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At
this
,
Scarlett
and
Melly
whooped
louder
and
sank
down
to
the
steps
.
Finally
Melly
wiped
tears
of
mirth
from
her
eyes
.
"
Poor
Uncle
Peter
!
I
'm
sorry
I
laughed
.
Really
and
truly
.
There
!
Do
forgive
me
.
Miss
Scarlett
and
I
just
ca
n't
come
home
now
.
Maybe
I
'll
come
in
September
after
the
cotton
is
picked
.
Did
Auntie
send
you
all
the
way
down
here
just
to
bring
us
back
on
that
bag
of
bones
?
"
At
this
question
,
Peter
's
jaw
suddenly
dropped
and
guilt
and
consternation
swept
over
his
wrinkled
black
face
.
His
protruding
underlip
retreated
to
normal
as
swiftly
as
a
turtle
withdraws
its
head
beneath
its
shell
.
"
Miss
Melly
.
Ah
is
gittin
'
ole
,
Ah
spec
'
,
'
cause
Ah
clean
fergit
fer
de
moment
whut
she
sent
me
fer
,
an
'
it
's
important
too
.
Ah
got
a
letter
fer
you
.
Miss
Pitty
wouldn
'
trust
de
mails
or
nobody
but
me
ter
bring
it
an
'
--
"
"
A
letter
?
For
me
?
Who
from
?
"
"
Well
'm
,
it
's
--
Miss
Pitty
,
she
says
ter
me
,
'
You
,
Peter
,
you
brek
it
gen
'
ly
ter
Miss
Melly
,
'
an
'
Ah
say
--
"
Melly
rose
from
the
steps
,
her
hand
at
her
heart
.
"
Ashley
!
Ashley
!
He
's
dead
!
"
"
No
'm
!
No
'm
!
"
cried
Peter
,
his
voice
rising
to
a
shrill
bawl
,
as
he
fumbled
in
the
breast
pocket
of
his
ragged
coat
.
"
He
's
'
live
!
Disyere
a
letter
frum
him
.
He
comin
'
home
.
He
--
Gawdlmighty
!
Ketch
her
,
Mammy
!
Lem
me
--
"
