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- Маргарет Митчелл
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- Унесенные ветром
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- Стр. 521/927
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She
knew
she
had
changed
too
,
but
not
as
they
had
changed
,
and
it
puzzled
her
.
She
sat
and
watched
them
and
she
felt
herself
an
alien
among
them
,
as
alien
and
lonely
as
if
she
had
come
from
another
world
,
speaking
a
language
they
did
not
understand
and
she
not
understanding
theirs
.
Then
she
knew
that
this
feeling
was
the
same
one
she
felt
with
Ashley
.
With
him
and
with
people
of
his
kind
--
and
they
made
up
most
of
her
world
--
she
felt
outside
of
something
she
could
not
understand
.
Their
faces
were
little
changed
and
their
manners
not
at
all
but
it
seemed
to
her
that
these
two
things
were
all
that
remained
of
her
old
friends
.
An
ageless
dignity
,
a
timeless
gallantry
still
clung
about
them
and
would
cling
until
they
died
but
they
would
carry
undying
bitterness
to
their
graves
,
a
bitterness
too
deep
for
words
.
They
were
a
soft-spoken
,
fierce
,
tired
people
who
were
defeated
and
would
not
know
defeat
,
broken
yet
standing
determinedly
erect
.
They
were
crushed
and
helpless
,
citizens
of
conquered
provinces
.
They
were
looking
on
the
state
they
loved
,
seeing
it
trampled
by
the
enemy
,
rascals
making
a
mock
of
the
law
,
their
former
slaves
a
menace
,
their
men
disfranchised
,
their
women
insulted
.
And
they
were
remembering
graves
.
Everything
in
their
old
world
had
changed
but
the
old
forms
.
The
old
usages
went
on
,
must
go
on
,
for
the
forms
were
all
that
were
left
to
them
.
They
were
holding
tightly
to
the
things
they
knew
best
and
loved
best
in
the
old
days
,
the
leisured
manners
,
the
courtesy
,
the
pleasant
casualness
in
human
contacts
and
,
most
of
all
,
the
protecting
attitude
of
the
men
toward
their
women
.
True
to
the
tradition
in
which
they
had
been
reared
,
the
men
were
courteous
and
tender
and
they
almost
succeeded
in
creating
an
atmosphere
of
sheltering
their
women
from
all
that
was
harsh
and
unfit
for
feminine
eyes
.
That
,
thought
Scarlett
,
was
the
height
of
absurdity
,
for
there
was
little
,
now
,
which
even
the
most
cloistered
women
had
not
seen
and
known
in
the
last
five
years
.
They
had
nursed
the
wounded
,
closed
dying
eyes
,
suffered
war
and
fire
and
devastation
,
known
terror
and
flight
and
starvation
.
But
,
no
matter
what
sights
they
had
seen
,
what
menial
tasks
they
had
done
and
would
have
to
do
,
they
remained
ladies
and
gentlemen
,
royalty
in
exile
--
bitter
,
aloof
,
incurious
,
kind
to
one
another
,
diamond
hard
,
as
bright
and
brittle
as
the
crystals
of
the
broken
chandelier
over
their
heads
.
The
old
days
had
gone
but
these
people
would
go
their
ways
as
if
the
old
days
still
existed
,
charming
,
leisurely
,
determined
not
to
rush
and
scramble
for
pennies
as
the
Yankees
did
,
determined
to
part
with
none
of
the
old
ways
.
Scarlett
knew
that
she
,
too
,
was
greatly
changed
.
Otherwise
she
could
not
have
done
the
things
she
had
done
since
she
was
last
in
Atlanta
;
otherwise
she
would
not
now
be
contemplating
doing
what
she
desperately
hoped
to
do
.
But
there
was
a
difference
in
their
hardness
and
hers
and
just
what
the
difference
was
,
she
could
not
,
for
the
moment
,
tell
.
Perhaps
it
was
that
there
was
nothing
she
would
not
do
,
and
there
were
so
many
things
these
people
would
rather
die
than
do
.
Perhaps
it
was
that
they
were
without
hope
but
still
smiling
at
life
,
bowing
gracefully
and
passing
it
by
.
And
this
Scarlett
could
not
do
.
She
could
not
ignore
life
.
She
had
to
live
it
and
it
was
too
brutal
,
too
hostile
,
for
her
even
to
try
to
gloss
over
its
harshness
with
a
smile
.
Of
the
sweetness
and
courage
and
unyielding
pride
of
her
friends
,
Scarlett
saw
nothing
.
She
saw
only
a
silly
stiff-neckedness
which
observed
facts
but
smiled
and
refused
to
look
them
in
the
face
.
As
she
stared
at
the
dancers
,
flushed
from
the
reel
,
she
wondered
if
things
drove
them
as
she
was
driven
,
dead
lovers
,
maimed
husbands
,
children
who
were
hungry
,
acres
slipping
away
,
beloved
roofs
that
sheltered
strangers
.
But
,
of
course
,
they
were
driven
!
She
knew
their
circumstances
only
a
little
less
thoroughly
than
she
knew
her
own
.
Their
losses
had
been
her
losses
,
their
privations
her
privations
,
their
problems
her
same
problems
.
Yet
they
had
reacted
differently
to
them
.
The
faces
she
was
seeing
in
the
room
were
not
faces
;
they
were
masks
,
excellent
masks
which
would
never
drop
.
