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- Маргарет Митчелл
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- Унесенные ветром
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- Стр. 892/927
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He
was
bitter
now
,
where
he
had
been
pleasantly
jeering
,
brutal
where
his
thrusts
had
once
been
tempered
with
humor
.
After
Bonnie
died
,
many
of
the
good
ladies
of
the
neighborhood
who
had
been
won
over
to
him
by
his
charming
manners
with
his
daughter
were
anxious
to
show
him
kindness
.
They
stopped
him
on
the
street
to
give
him
their
sympathy
and
spoke
to
him
from
over
their
hedges
,
saying
that
they
understood
.
But
now
that
Bonnie
,
the
reason
for
his
good
manners
,
was
gone
the
manners
went
to
.
He
cut
the
ladies
and
their
well-meant
condolences
off
shortly
,
rudely
.
But
,
oddly
enough
,
the
ladies
were
not
offended
.
They
understood
,
or
thought
they
understood
.
When
he
rode
home
in
the
twilight
almost
too
drunk
to
stay
in
the
saddle
,
scowling
at
those
who
spoke
to
him
,
the
ladies
said
"
Poor
thing
!
"
and
redoubled
their
efforts
to
be
kind
and
gentle
.
They
felt
very
sorry
for
him
,
broken
hearted
and
riding
home
to
no
better
comfort
than
Scarlett
.
Everybody
knew
how
cold
and
heartless
she
was
.
Everybody
was
appalled
at
the
seeming
ease
with
which
she
had
recovered
from
Bonnie
's
death
,
never
realizing
or
caring
to
realize
the
effort
that
lay
behind
that
seeming
recovery
.
Rhett
had
the
town
's
tenderest
sympathy
and
he
neither
knew
nor
cared
.
Scarlett
had
the
town
's
dislike
and
,
for
once
,
she
would
have
welcomed
the
sympathy
of
old
friends
.
Now
,
none
of
her
old
friends
came
to
the
house
,
except
Aunt
Pitty
,
Melanie
and
Ashley
.
Only
the
new
friends
came
calling
in
their
shining
carriages
,
anxious
to
tell
her
of
their
sympathy
,
eager
to
divert
her
with
gossip
about
other
new
friends
in
whom
she
was
not
at
all
interested
.
All
these
"
new
people
,
"
strangers
,
every
one
!
They
did
n't
know
her
.
They
would
never
know
her
.
They
had
no
realization
of
what
her
life
had
been
before
she
reached
her
present
safe
eminence
in
her
mansion
on
Peachtree
Street
.
They
did
n't
care
to
talk
about
what
their
lives
had
been
before
they
attained
stiff
brocades
and
victorias
with
fine
teams
of
horses
.
They
did
n't
know
of
her
struggles
,
her
privations
,
all
the
things
that
made
this
great
house
and
pretty
clothes
and
silver
and
receptions
worth
having
.
They
did
n't
know
.
They
did
n't
care
,
these
people
from
God-knows-where
who
seemed
to
live
always
on
the
surface
of
things
,
who
had
no
common
memories
of
war
and
hunger
and
fighting
,
who
had
no
common
roots
going
down
into
the
same
red
earth
.
Now
in
her
loneliness
,
she
would
have
liked
to
while
away
the
afternoons
with
Maybelle
or
Fanny
or
Mrs.
Elsing
or
Mrs.
Whiting
or
even
that
redoubtable
old
warrior
,
Mrs.
Merriwether
.
Or
Mrs.
Bonnell
or
--
or
any
of
her
old
friends
and
neighbors
.
For
they
knew
.
They
had
known
war
and
terror
and
fire
,
had
seen
dear
ones
dead
before
their
time
;
they
had
hungered
and
been
ragged
,
had
lived
with
the
wolf
at
the
door
.
And
they
had
rebuilt
fortune
from
ruin
.
It
would
be
a
comfort
to
sit
with
Maybelle
,
remembering
that
Maybelle
had
buried
a
baby
,
dead
in
the
mad
flight
before
Sherman
.
There
would
be
solace
in
Fanny
's
presence
,
knowing
that
she
and
Fanny
both
had
lost
husbands
in
the
black
days
of
martial
law
.
It
would
be
grim
fun
to
laugh
with
Mrs.
Elsing
,
recalling
the
old
lady
's
face
as
she
flogged
her
horse
through
Five
Points
the
day
Atlanta
fell
,
her
loot
from
the
commissary
jouncing
from
her
carriage
.
It
would
be
pleasant
to
match
stories
with
Mrs.
Merriwether
,
now
secure
on
the
proceeds
of
her
bakery
,
pleasant
to
say
:
"
Do
you
remember
how
bad
things
were
right
after
the
surrender
?
Do
you
remember
when
we
did
n't
know
where
our
next
pair
of
shoes
was
coming
from
?
And
look
at
us
now
!
"
Yes
,
it
would
be
pleasant
.
Now
she
understood
why
when
two
ex-Confederates
met
,
they
talked
of
the
war
with
so
much
relish
,
with
pride
,
with
nostalgia
.
Those
had
been
days
that
tried
their
hearts
but
they
had
come
through
them
.
They
were
veterans
.
She
was
a
veteran
too
,
but
she
had
no
cronies
with
whom
she
could
refight
old
battles
.
Oh
,
to
be
with
her
own
kind
of
people
again
,
those
people
who
had
been
through
the
same
things
and
knew
how
they
hurt
--
and
yet
how
great
a
part
of
you
they
were
!
But
,
somehow
,
these
people
had
slipped
away
.
She
realized
that
it
was
her
own
fault
