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- Маргарет Митчелл
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- Стр. 855/927
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She
stroked
the
black
head
gently
and
said
:
"
There
!
There
!
"
soothingly
.
"
There
!
She
's
going
to
get
well
.
"
At
her
words
,
his
grip
tightened
and
he
began
speaking
rapidly
,
hoarsely
,
babbling
as
though
to
a
grave
which
would
never
give
up
its
secrets
,
babbling
the
truth
for
the
first
time
in
his
life
,
baring
himself
mercilessly
to
Melanie
who
was
at
first
,
utterly
uncomprehending
,
utterly
maternal
.
He
talked
brokenly
,
burrowing
his
head
in
her
lap
,
tugging
at
the
folds
of
her
skirt
.
Sometimes
his
words
were
blurred
,
muffled
,
sometimes
they
came
far
too
clearly
to
her
ears
,
harsh
,
bitter
words
of
confession
and
abasement
,
speaking
of
things
she
had
never
heard
even
a
woman
mention
,
secret
things
that
brought
the
hot
blood
of
modesty
to
her
cheeks
and
made
her
grateful
for
his
bowed
head
.
She
patted
his
head
as
she
did
little
Beau
's
and
said
:
"
Hush
!
Captain
Butler
!
You
must
not
tell
me
these
things
!
You
are
not
yourself
.
Hush
!
"
But
his
voice
went
on
in
a
wild
torrent
of
outpouring
and
he
held
to
her
dress
as
though
it
were
his
hope
of
life
.
He
accused
himself
of
deeds
she
did
not
understand
;
he
mumbled
the
name
of
Belle
Watling
and
then
he
shook
her
with
his
violence
as
he
cried
:
"
I
've
killed
Scarlett
,
I
've
killed
her
.
You
do
n't
understand
.
She
did
n't
want
this
baby
and
--
"
"
You
must
hush
!
You
are
beside
yourself
!
Not
want
a
baby
?
Why
every
woman
wants
--
"
"
No
!
No
!
You
want
babies
.
But
she
does
n't
.
Not
my
babies
--
"
"
You
must
stop
!
"
"
You
do
n't
understand
.
She
did
n't
want
a
baby
and
I
made
her
.
This
--
this
baby
--
it
's
all
my
damned
fault
.
We
had
n't
been
sleeping
together
--
"
"
Hush
,
Captain
Butler
!
It
is
not
fit
--
"
