-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Маргарет Митчелл
-
- Унесенные ветром
-
- Стр. 720/927
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
And
if
Ashley
ever
knew
the
real
truth
about
how
she
lied
to
Frank
to
get
him
,
knew
how
mean
she
had
been
to
Frank
,
he
could
never
love
her
any
more
.
Ashley
was
so
honorable
,
so
truthful
,
so
kind
and
he
saw
so
straightly
,
so
clearly
.
If
he
knew
the
whole
truth
,
he
would
understand
.
Oh
,
yes
,
he
would
understand
only
too
well
!
But
he
would
never
love
her
any
more
.
So
he
must
never
know
the
truth
because
he
must
keep
on
loving
her
.
How
could
she
live
if
that
secret
source
of
her
strength
,
his
love
,
were
taken
from
her
?
But
what
a
relief
it
would
be
to
put
her
head
on
his
shoulder
and
cry
and
unburden
her
guilty
heart
!
The
still
house
with
the
sense
of
death
heavy
upon
it
pressed
about
her
loneliness
until
she
felt
she
could
not
bear
it
unaided
any
longer
.
She
arose
cautiously
,
pushed
her
door
half-closed
and
then
dug
about
in
the
bottom
bureau
drawer
beneath
her
underwear
.
She
produced
Aunt
Pitty
's
"
swoon
bottle
"
of
brandy
which
she
had
hidden
there
and
held
it
up
to
the
lamp
.
It
was
nearly
half-empty
.
Surely
she
had
n't
drunk
that
much
since
last
night
!
She
poured
a
generous
amount
into
her
water
glass
and
gulped
it
down
.
She
would
have
to
put
the
bottle
back
in
the
cellaret
before
morning
,
filled
to
the
top
with
water
.
Mammy
had
hunted
for
it
,
just
before
the
funeral
when
the
pallbearers
wanted
a
drink
,
and
already
the
air
in
the
kitchen
was
electric
with
suspicion
between
Mammy
,
Cookie
and
Peter
.
The
brandy
burned
with
fiery
pleasantness
.
There
was
nothing
like
it
when
you
needed
it
.
In
fact
,
brandy
was
good
almost
any
time
,
so
much
better
than
insipid
wine
.
Why
on
earth
should
it
be
proper
for
a
woman
to
drink
wine
and
not
spirits
?
Mrs.
Merriwether
and
Mrs.
Meade
had
sniffed
her
breath
most
obviously
at
the
funeral
and
she
had
seen
the
triumphant
look
they
had
exchanged
.
The
old
cats
!
She
poured
another
drink
.
It
would
n't
matter
if
she
did
get
a
little
tipsy
tonight
for
she
was
going
to
bed
soon
and
she
could
gargle
cologne
before
Mammy
came
up
to
unlace
her
.
She
wished
she
could
get
as
completely
and
thoughtlessly
drunk
as
Gerald
used
to
get
on
Court
Day
.
Then
perhaps
she
could
forget
Frank
's
sunken
face
accusing
her
of
ruining
his
life
and
then
killing
him
.
She
wondered
if
everyone
in
town
thought
she
had
killed
him
.
Certainly
the
people
at
the
funeral
had
been
cold
to
her
.
The
only
people
who
had
put
any
warmth
into
their
expressions
of
sympathy
were
the
wives
of
the
Yankee
officers
with
whom
she
did
business
.
Well
,
she
did
n't
care
what
the
town
said
about
her
.
How
unimportant
that
seemed
beside
what
she
would
have
to
answer
for
to
God
!
She
took
another
drink
at
the
thought
,
shuddering
as
the
hot
brandy
went
down
her
throat
.
She
felt
very
warm
now
but
still
she
could
n't
get
the
thought
of
Frank
out
of
her
mind
.
What
fools
men
were
when
they
said
liquor
made
people
forget
!
Unless
she
drank
herself
into
insensibility
,
she
'd
still
see
Frank
's
face
as
it
had
looked
the
last
time
he
begged
her
not
to
drive
alone
,
timid
,
reproachful
,
apologetic
.
The
knocker
on
the
front
door
hammered
with
a
dull
sound
that
made
the
still
house
echo
and
she
heard
Aunt
Pitty
's
waddling
steps
crossing
the
hall
and
the
door
opening
.
There
was
the
sound
of
greeting
and
an
indistinguishable
murmur
.
Some
neighbor
calling
to
discuss
the
funeral
or
to
bring
a
blanc
mange
.
Pitty
would
like
that
.
She
had
taken
an
important
and
melancholy
pleasure
in
talking
to
the
condolence
callers
.
She
wondered
incuriously
who
it
was
and
,
when
a
man
's
voice
,
resonant
and
drawling
,
rose
above
Pitty
's
funereal
whispering
,
she
knew
.
Gladness
and
relief
flooded
her
.
It
was
Rhett
.
She
had
not
seen
him
since
he
broke
the
news
of
Frank
's
death
to
her
,
and
now
she
knew
,
deep
in
her
heart
,
that
he
was
the
one
person
who
could
help
her
tonight
.
