Scarlett，whose rooy across the hall from her mother’s， knew from babyhood the soft soundof scurrying bare black feet on the hardwood floor in the hours of dawn， the urgent tappingson her mother’s door， and the muffled， frightened negro voices that whispered of sicknessand birth and death in the long row of whitewashed cabins in the quarters. As a child， sheoften had crept to the door and， peeping through the tiniest crack， had seen Ellen emergefrom the dark room， where Gerald’s snores were rhythbsp;and untroubled， into theflickering light of an upheld candle， her e case under her arm， her hair sce， and no button on her basque unlooped.