own toworry about her

She walked back across the yard and took　ielts ukvithe path down toward the silent row of whitewashedcabins in the quarters, calling “Hello!” as she went. But no voice answered her. Not even a dogbarked. Evidently the Wilkes negroes had taken flight or followed the Yankees. She knew everyslave had his own garden patch and as she reached the quarters, she hoped these little patches hadbeen spared.
Her search was rewarded but she was too tired even to feel pleasure at the sight of turnips andcabbages, wilted for want of water but still standing, and straggling butter beans and snap beans,yellow but edible. She sat down in the furrows and dug into the earth with hands that shook, fillingher basket slowly. There would be a good meal at Tara tonight, in spite of the lack of side meat toboil with the vegetables. Perhaps some of the bacon grease Dilcey was using for illumination couldbe used for seasoning. She must remember to tell Dilcey to use pine knots and save the grease forcooking.
Close to the back step of one cabin, she found a short row of radishes and hunger assaulted hersuddenly. A spicy, sharp-tasting radish was exactly what her stomach craved. Hardly waiting to rubthe dirt off on her skirt, she bit off half and swallowed it hastily. It was old and coarse and sopeppery that tears started in her eyes. No sooner had the lump gone down than her empty outragedstomach revolted and she lay in the soft dirt and vomited tiredly.
The faint niggery smell which crept from the cabin increased her nausea and, without strength tocombat it, she kept on retching miserably while the cabins and trees revolved swiftly around her.
After a long time, she lay weakly　 on her face, the earth as soft and comfortable as a featherpillow, and her mind wandered feebly here and there. She, Scarlett O’Hara. was lying behind anegro cabin, in the midst of ruins, too sick and too weak to move, and no one in the world knew orcared. No one would care if they did know, for everyone had too many troubles of his. And all this was happening to her, Scarlett O’Hara, who had never raised her handeven to pick up her discarded stockings from the floor or to tie the laces of her slippers—Scarlett,whose little headaches and tempers had been coddled and catered to all her life.
As she lay prostrate, too weak to fight off memories and worries, they rushed at her likebuzzards waiting for death. No longer had she the strength to say: I’ll think of Mother and Pa andAshley and all this ruin later— Yes, later when I can stand it.” She could not stand　Neo skin lab it now, but shewas thinking of them whether she willed it or not. The thoughts circled and swooped above her,dived down and drove tearing claws and sharp beaks into her mind. For a timeless time, she lay still, her face in the dirt, the sun beating hotly upon her, remembering things and people who weredead, remembering a way of living that was gone forever—and looking upon the harsh vista of thedark future.