1 No one could go forward with a load of aching memories.
2 Scarlett with an effort lifted her head on her aching neck.
3 Stiffly, Scarlett climbed down from the seat, each movement of agony of aching muscles.
4 Yes, she was sick of the hospital, the foul smells, the lice, the aching, unwashed bodies.
5 She strained forward trying to hear and soon she found her muscles aching from the tension.
6 She pushed a small cushion behind her aching back and thought hungrily of a daughter of her own.
7 Scarlett leaned her head against the wall, like a naughty child in a corner, and rubbed her aching throat.
8 Her head ached from the heat and she could feel her basque, soaking wet from perspiration, sticking to her.
9 Finally the pallbearers set the coffin down near the grave and stood clenching and unclenching their aching fingers.
10 So she had unharnessed him and crawled, sodden with fatigue, into the back of the wagon and stretched her aching legs.
11 She raised an aching head, looked at him with startled incredulity and met the pleading eyes of Mammy, who stood behind Gerald's chair.
12 She gripped the reins tighter with hands that were blistered and slapped them fiercely on the horse's back, her aching arms burning at the movement.
13 She would gladly have another child, several children, if they would take that look out of Rhett's eyes and fill up the aching spaces in her own heart.
14 Dilcey worked tirelessly, silently, like a machine, and Scarlett, with her back aching and her shoulder raw from the tugging weight of the cotton bag she carried, thought that Dilcey was worth her weight in gold.
15 When she came home in the late afternoons, damp from the rain, cramped and aching from long hours in the buggy, nothing sustained her except the thought of the bottle hidden in her top bureau drawer, locked against Mammy's prying eyes.
16 She was hungry and dry with thirst, aching and cramped and filled with wonder that she, Scarlett O'Hara, who could never rest well except between linen sheets and on the softest of feather beds, had slept like a field hand on hard planks.
17 Flies, mosquitoes and gnats hovered in droning, singing swarms over the wards, tormenting the men to curses and weak sobs; and Scarlett, scratching her own mosquito bites, swung palmetto fans until her shoulders ached and she wished that all the men were dead.
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