of her
hurt and
frantic
regret was
pushed
from the
top of her
mind. She
stood for
a moment
remembering
small
things,
the avenue
of dark
cedars
leading to
Tara, the
banks of
cape
jessamine
bushes,
vivid
green
against
the white
walls, the
fluttering
white
curtains.
And Mammy
would be
there.
Suddenly
she wanted
Mammy
desperately,
as she had
wanted her
when she
was a
little
girl,
wanted the
broad
bosom on
which to
lay her
head, the
gnarled
