Gone with the Wind / Унесённые ветром. Уровень 3. Маргарет Митчелл

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      «But you like me. Could you ever love me, Scarlett? May I call you ‘dear,’ Mrs. Hamilton? I shall call you ‘dear’ whether you like it or not».

      «You don’t love me?»

      «No, indeed. Did you hope that I did?»

      «Don’t be so presumptuous!»

      «You hoped! You are charming and talented. No, I don’t love you. But I like you tremendously… for the elasticity of your conscience, for the selfishness which you don’t hide, and for the shrewd practicality. I like you because I have those same qualities in me. I realize you still cherish the memory of the godlike and woodenheaded Mr. Wilkes. But there must be room in your heart for me too. Scarlett, I am making you a declaration. I have wanted you since the first time I laid eyes on you, in the hall of Twelve Oaks. I want you more than I have ever wanted any woman. And I’ve waited longer for you than I’ve ever waited for any woman».

      She was breathless with surprise at his last words. In spite of all his insults, he did love her.

      «Are you asking me to marry you?»

      He dropped her hand and laughed loudly.

      «Good Lord, no! Didn’t I tell you I wasn’t a marrying man?»

      «But… but… what…»

      He rose to his feet and made her a burlesque bow.

      «Dear», he said quietly, «I am asking you to be my mistress».

      Mistress!

      She was vilely insulted. He thinks her such a fool! Rage, vanity and disappointment threw her mind into a turmoil. She blurted out the first words which came to her lips…

      «Mistress! What will I get out of that except a passel of brats[18]?»

      Then she realized what she had said. She pressed her handkerchief to her mouth. He laughed.

      «That’s why I like you! You are the only frank woman I know, the only woman who looks on the practical side of matters. You don’t think about sin and morality. Any other woman will swoon first and then show me the door».

      Scarlett leaped to her feet, her face red with shame. How could she say such a thing! She must scream. She must faint. She must turn coldly away in silence. Too late now!

      «I will show you the door», she shouted. «Get out! How dare you say such things to me! Get out and don’t ever come back here. I’ll… I’ll tell my father and he’ll kill you!»

      He picked up his hat and bowed. His teeth were showing in a smile beneath his mustache. He was not ashamed, he was amused at what she had said, and he was watching her with alert interest.

      Oh, he was detestable! She grabbed hold of the door to shut it with a bang, but the hook was too heavy for her.

      «May I help you?» he asked.

      She stormed up the stairs. And he slammed the door for her.

      Chapter XV

      Nowadays the news was passed from mouth to mouth. The wildest rumors appeared from nowhere and swept through the town. Crowds stormed General Hood’s headquarters demanding information. But no news came. The telegraph wires were still, no trains came in on the one remaining railroad from the south and the mail service was broken.

      And it was only four months since the Yankees moved south from Dalton. Only four months! Scarlett thought that it had occurred in another life. Oh, no! Surely not just four months. It had been a lifetime.

      Four months ago! Four months ago Dalton, Resaca, Kennesaw Mountain had been to her only names of places on the railroad. Now they were battles. Peachtree Creek, Decatur, Ezra Church, Utoy Creek. Never names of places any more. Names of graves where friends lay buried, names of tangled underbrush and thick woods where bodies rotted unburied.

      For a week Scarlett had not heard from Tara. Carreen was very, very sick. There was fighting at Jonesboro. No, the Yankees hadn’t gotten to Tara. The courier who brought the dispatches to General Hood assured Scarlett of that. He had met Gerald in Jonesboro after the battle, and Gerald had begged him to bring a letter to her.

      But what was Pa doing in Jonesboro? Gerald was trying to find a doctor to go to Tara with him.

      Scarlett opened Gerald’s letter with fingers that trembled.

      «Dear Daughter,

      Your mother and both girls have the typhoid. They are very ill but we must hope for the best. Under no condition don’t come home and expose yourself and Wade to the disease».

      For the next week Scarlett crept about the house like a stricken animal, waiting for news. The mails were still disrupted, no one knew where the Confederates were or what the Yankees were doing.

      Scarlett had seen enough typhoid in the Atlanta hospital to know what a week meant in that dread disease. Ellen was ill, perhaps dying, and here was Scarlett helpless in Atlanta with a pregnant woman on her hands. Ellen was ill… But Ellen can’t be ill! She had never been ill. The very thought was incredible. Everyone else got sick, but never Ellen. Ellen looked after sick people and made them well again. She couldn’t be sick. Scarlett wanted to be home. Home!

      «Oh, damn Melanie!» she thought a thousand times. «Why didn’t she go to Macon with Aunt Pitty? I’m none of her blood. And I have to wait for her baby! Oh, Mother! Mother! Don’t die! Why doesn’t this baby come? Dear God! What if Melanie is dead? Melanie dead. And Ashley… No, I mustn’t think about that, it isn’t nice. But Ashley… No, I mustn’t think about that because he’s probably dead, anyway. What if Ashley is still alive? No, I mustn’t think about that. It’s sinful. I want to get away from here… get home… get anywhere».

      Scarlett hated this ominously still town. Atlanta was no longer the place she had loved. It was a hideous place like a plaguestricken city so quiet, so dreadfully quiet after the din of the siege. There was only horror in the town. The town seemed haunted, haunted with fear and uncertainty and memories.

      The last day of August came. Everyone knew now what the soldiers had known two weeks before. If the Macon railroad falls, Atlanta will fall too.

      On the morning of the first of September, Scarlett awoke with a suffocating sense of dread upon her. She sat up hastily, rubbing her eyes.

      As she stood, looking out of the window, there came to her ears a far-off sound.

      «Rain», she thought in the first moment, «we certainly need it». But then: «Rain? No! Not rain! Cannon!»

      Cannon to the south! And to the south lay Jonesboro and Tara and Ellen. Yankees perhaps at Tara, now, this minute! From the kitchen below, she heard the rattle of plates. Prissy was preparing and singing. Scarlett shouted: «Shut up that singing, Prissy!»

      Scarlett walked to Melanie’s door and opened it, peering into the sunny room. Melanie lay in bed in her nightgown, her eyes closed, her slender body hideous and distorted. She looked worse than any pregnant woman she had ever seen. As she looked, Melanie’s eyes opened and a soft warm smile lit her face.

      «Come in», she invited. «Scarlett, there’s something I want to ask СКАЧАТЬ