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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