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As
she
thought
of
Tony
's
sudden
entrance
and
swift
exit
,
she
felt
herself
akin
to
him
,
for
she
remembered
the
old
story
how
her
father
had
left
Ireland
,
left
hastily
and
by
night
,
after
a
murder
which
was
no
murder
to
him
or
to
his
family
.
Gerald
's
blood
was
in
her
,
violent
blood
.
She
remembered
her
hot
joy
in
shooting
the
marauding
Yankee
.
Violent
blood
was
in
them
all
,
perilously
close
to
the
surface
,
lurking
just
beneath
the
kindly
courteous
exteriors
.
All
of
them
,
all
the
men
she
knew
,
even
the
drowsy-eyed
Ashley
and
fidgety
old
Frank
,
were
like
that
underneath
--
murderous
,
violent
if
the
need
arose
.
Even
Rhett
,
conscienceless
scamp
that
he
was
,
had
killed
a
negro
for
being
"
uppity
to
a
lady
.
"
"
Oh
,
Frank
,
how
long
will
it
be
like
this
?
"
she
leaped
to
her
feet
.
"
As
long
as
the
Yankees
hate
us
so
,
Sugar
.
"
"
Is
there
nothing
anybody
can
do
?
"
Frank
passed
a
tired
hand
over
his
wet
beard
.
"
We
are
doing
things
.
"
"
What
?
"
"
Why
talk
of
them
till
we
have
accomplished
something
?
It
may
take
years
.
Perhaps
--
perhaps
the
South
will
always
be
like
this
.
"
"
Oh
,
no
!
"
"
Sugar
,
come
to
bed
.
You
must
be
chilled
.
You
are
shaking
.
"
"
When
will
it
all
end
?
"
