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Chapter 33

           "TheLordstoppedthinkingaboutusyearsago,"saidScarlettsavagely."Anddon’tgotellingmeMotheristurninginhergravetohearmesayit,either."

           ShewantedtofeelsuperiorandvirtuousaboutBellebutshecouldnot.Ifherplanswentwell,shemightbeonthesamefootingwithBelleandsupportedbythesameman.Whileshedidnotregretherdecisiononewhit,thematterinitstruelightdiscomfitedher."Iwon’tthinkofitnow,"shetoldherselfandhurriedhersteps.

           TheypassedthelotwheretheMeadehousehadstoodandthereremainedofitonlyaforlornpairofstonestepsandawalk,leadinguptonothing.WheretheWhitings’homehadbeenwasbareground.Eventhefoundationstonesandthebrickchimneysweregoneandtherewerewagontrackswheretheyhadbeencartedaway.ThebrickhouseoftheElsingsstillstood,withanewroofandanewsecondfloor.TheBonnellhome,awkwardlypatchedandroofedwithrudeboardsinsteadofshingles,managedtolooklivableforallitsbatteredappearance.Butinneitherhousewasthereafaceatthewindoworafigureontheporch,andScarlettwasglad.Shedidnotwanttotalktoanyonenow.

           ThenthenewslateroofofAuntPitty’shousecameinviewwithitsred-brickwalls,andScarlett’sheartthrobbed.HowgoodoftheLordnottolevelitbeyondrepair!ComingoutofthefrontyardwasUnclePeter,amarketbasketonhisarm,andwhenhesawScarlettandMammytrudgingalong,awide,increduloussmilesplithisblackface.

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