1 She felt that the once-familiar woods were full of ghosts.
2 Another ghost of a smile lit the black face, a smile of pleasure and respect.
3 No ghost rose from that shallow grave to haunt her in the long nights when she lay awake, too tired to sleep.
4 His voice was calm and tired but there was something in the quality of it that raised a ghost of memory in Scarlett.
5 They ride around at night dressed up like ghosts and call on Carpetbaggers who steal money and negroes who are uppity.
6 "Yes, there is something left," he said, and the ghost of his old smile came back, the smile which mocked himself as well as her.
7 They went past, looking neither to left nor right, so silent that had it not been for the steady tramp of feet they might all have been ghosts.
8 At first she was as startled as if a ghost had invaded the store and then, hastily removing her foot from beneath her, she stiffened her spine and gave him a cold stare.
9 The live oaks with their waving curtains of gray moss gave Scarlett the creeps and always brought to her mind Gerald's stories of Irish ghosts roaming in shimmering gray mists.
10 In a hundred nightmares, she had fled through fog like this, through a haunted country without landmarks, thick with cold cloaking mist, peopled with clutching ghosts and shadows.
11 He belonged to another woman and he had gone to the war, but his ghost still haunted the roads in the twilight, still smiled at her from drowsy gray eyes in the shadows of the porch.
12 The narrow street was a dim tunnel, but faintly through the thick leafy ceiling the hideous red glow of the sky penetrated and shadows chased one another down the dark way like mad ghosts.
13 I have so wanted to see him but whenever I've been there, he has either been downtown or locked in his room with-- And Scarlett has looked like a ghost and wouldn't speak-- Tell me quickly, Mammy.
14 So she feared to send him home and he remained in Atlanta, a frightened, silent little ghost, pattering about desperately after his mother, fearing to have her skirt out of his hand for even a minute.
15 Suddenly she stopped running, her hands clenching, struggling to pull herself out of her panic, staring intently at the row of gas lamps which had signaled to her brain that this was Peachtree Street, Atlanta, and not the gray world of sleep and ghosts.
16 But as she looked, watching the old men grouped about the decanter in the dining room, the matrons lining the walls, talking behind fanless hands, and the swaying, skipping young dancers, it came to her suddenly, coldly, frighteningly that it was all as greatly changed as if these familiar figures were ghosts.
17 She looked about the crowd, picking out friends and neighbors, Mrs. Meade with her bonnet askew and her arm through that of fifteen- year-old Phil; the Misses McLure trying to make their trembling upper lips cover their buck teeth; Mrs. Elsing, erect as a Spartan mother, betraying her inner turmoil only by the straggling gray locks that hung from her chignon; and Fanny Elsing white as a ghost.
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