Now She Had A Fumbling Knowledge That,

Times Were So Hard It Was Difficult To Feed And Lodge Humans, Much Less Animals.

Hunger Gnawed At Her Empty Stomach Again And She Said Aloud: 'as God Is My Witness, And God Is My Witness, The Yankees Aren't Going To Lick Me. I'm Going To Live Through This, And When It's Over, I'm Never Going To Be Hungry Again. No, Nor Any Of My Folks. If I Have To Steal Or Kill - As God Is My Witness, I'm Never Going To Be Hungry Again.

Scarlett's Mind Went Back Through The Years To The Still Hot Noon At Tara When Grey Smoke Curled Above A Blue-clad Body And Melanie Stood At The Top Of The Stairs With Charles' Sabre In Her Hand. Scarlett Remembered That She Had Thought At The Time: 'how Silly! Melly Couldn't Even Heft That Sword!' But Now She Knew That Had The Necessity Arisen, Melanie Would Have Charged Down Those Stairs And Killed The Yankee - Or Been Killed Herself.

The Green Eyes In The Carefully Sweet Face Were Turbulent, Willful, Lusty With Life, Distinctly At Variance With Her Decorous Demeanor. Her Manners Had Been Imposed Upon Her ... Her Eyes Were Her Own.

The Irish Are The Damnedest Race. They Put So Much Emphasis On So Many Wrong Things.