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- Маргарет Митчелл
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- Стр. 463/927
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He
remembered
the
way
she
had
squared
her
shoulders
when
she
turned
away
from
him
that
afternoon
,
remembered
the
stubborn
lift
of
her
head
.
His
heart
went
out
to
her
,
torn
with
his
own
helplessness
,
wrenched
with
admiration
He
knew
she
had
no
such
word
in
her
vocabulary
as
gallantry
,
knew
she
would
have
stared
blankly
if
he
had
told
her
she
was
the
most
gallant
soul
he
had
ever
known
.
He
knew
she
would
not
understand
how
many
truly
fine
things
he
ascribed
to
her
when
he
thought
of
her
as
gallant
.
He
knew
that
she
took
life
as
it
came
,
opposed
her
tough-fibered
mind
to
whatever
obstacles
there
might
be
,
fought
on
with
a
determination
that
would
not
recognize
defeat
,
and
kept
on
fighting
even
when
she
saw
defeat
was
inevitable
.
But
,
for
four
years
,
he
had
seen
others
who
had
refused
to
recognize
defeat
,
men
who
rode
gaily
into
sure
disaster
because
they
were
gallant
.
And
they
had
been
defeated
,
just
the
same
.
He
thought
as
he
stared
at
Will
in
the
shadowy
hall
that
he
had
never
known
such
gallantry
as
the
gallantry
of
Scarlett
O'Hara
going
forth
to
conquer
the
world
in
her
mother
's
velvet
curtains
and
the
tail
feathers
of
a
rooster
.
A
cold
wind
was
blowing
stiffly
and
the
scudding
clouds
overhead
were
the
deep
gray
of
slate
when
Scarlett
and
Mammy
stepped
from
the
train
in
Atlanta
the
next
afternoon
.
The
depot
had
not
been
rebuilt
since
the
burning
of
the
city
and
they
alighted
amid
cinders
and
mud
a
few
yards
above
the
blackened
ruins
which
marked
the
site
.
Habit
strong
upon
her
,
Scarlett
looked
about
for
Uncle
Peter
and
Pitty
's
carriage
,
for
she
had
always
been
met
by
them
when
returning
from
Tara
to
Atlanta
during
the
war
years
.
Then
she
caught
herself
with
a
sniff
at
her
own
absent-mindedness
.
Naturally
,
Peter
was
n't
there
for
she
had
given
Aunt
Pitty
no
warning
of
her
coming
and
,
moreover
,
she
remembered
that
one
of
the
old
lady
's
letters
had
dealt
tearfully
with
the
death
of
the
old
nag
Peter
had
"
'
quired
"
in
Macon
to
bring
her
back
to
Atlanta
after
the
surrender
.
She
looked
about
the
rutted
and
cut-up
space
around
the
depot
for
the
equipage
of
some
old
friend
or
acquaintance
who
might
drive
them
to
Aunt
Pitty
's
house
but
she
recognized
no
one
,
black
or
white
.
Probably
none
of
her
old
friends
owned
carriages
now
,
if
what
Pitty
had
written
them
was
true
.
Times
were
so
hard
it
was
difficult
to
feed
and
lodge
humans
,
much
less
animals
.
Most
of
Pitty
's
friends
,
like
herself
,
were
afoot
these
days
.
There
were
a
few
wagons
loading
at
the
freight
cars
and
several
mud-splashed
buggies
with
rough-looking
strangers
at
the
reins
but
only
two
carriages
.
One
was
a
closed
carriage
,
the
other
open
and
occupied
by
a
well-dressed
woman
and
a
Yankee
officer
.
Scarlett
drew
in
her
breath
sharply
at
the
sight
of
the
uniform
.
Although
Pitty
had
written
that
Atlanta
was
garrisoned
and
the
streets
full
of
soldiers
,
the
first
sight
of
the
bluecoat
startled
and
frightened
her
.
It
was
hard
to
remember
that
the
war
was
over
and
that
this
man
would
not
pursue
her
,
rob
her
and
insult
her
.
The
comparative
emptiness
around
the
train
took
her
mind
back
to
that
morning
in
1862
when
she
had
come
to
Atlanta
as
a
young
widow
,
swathed
in
crepe
and
wild
with
boredom
.
She
recalled
how
crowded
this
space
had
been
with
wagons
and
carriages
and
ambulances
and
how
noisy
with
drivers
swearing
and
yelling
and
people
calling
greetings
to
friends
.
She
sighed
for
the
light-hearted
excitement
of
the
war
days
and
sighed
again
at
the
thought
of
walking
all
the
way
to
Aunt
Pitty
's
house
.
But
she
was
hopeful
that
once
on
Peachtree
Street
,
she
might
meet
someone
she
knew
who
would
give
them
a
ride
.
As
she
stood
looking
about
her
a
saddle-colored
negro
of
middle
age
drove
the
closed
carriage
toward
her
and
,
leaning
from
the
box
,
questioned
:
"
Cah
'
ige
,
lady
?
Two
bits
fer
any
whar
in
'
Lanta
.
"
