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- Маргарет Митчелл
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- Стр. 832/927
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"
I
did
not
want
a
drink
,
"
she
said
stiffly
.
"
I
heard
a
noise
and
came
--
"
"
You
heard
nothing
.
You
would
n't
have
come
down
if
you
'd
thought
I
was
home
.
I
've
sat
here
and
listened
to
you
racing
up
and
down
the
floor
upstairs
.
You
must
need
a
drink
badly
.
Take
it
.
"
"
I
do
not
--
"
He
picked
up
the
decanter
and
sloshed
a
glassful
,
untidily
.
"
Take
it
,
"
he
said
,
shoving
it
into
her
hand
.
"
You
are
shaking
all
over
.
Oh
,
do
n't
give
yourself
airs
.
I
know
you
drink
on
the
quiet
and
I
know
how
much
you
drink
.
For
some
time
I
've
been
intending
to
tell
you
to
stop
your
elaborate
pretenses
and
drink
openly
if
you
want
to
.
Do
you
think
I
give
a
damn
if
you
like
your
brandy
?
"
She
took
the
wet
glass
,
silently
cursing
him
.
He
read
her
like
a
book
.
He
had
always
read
her
and
he
was
the
one
man
in
the
world
from
whom
she
would
like
to
hide
her
real
thoughts
.
"
Drink
it
,
I
say
.
"
She
raised
the
glass
and
bolted
the
contents
with
one
abrupt
motion
of
her
arm
,
wrist
stiff
,
just
as
Gerald
had
always
taken
his
neat
whisky
,
bolted
it
before
she
thought
how
practiced
and
unbecoming
it
looked
.
He
did
not
miss
the
gesture
and
his
mouth
went
down
at
the
corner
.
"
Sit
down
and
we
will
have
a
pleasant
domestic
discussion
of
the
elegant
reception
we
have
just
attended
.
"
