the reins from her

Without slacking, she looked trembling over her shoulder and saw Big Sam racing down the road behind her, his long legs working like hard-driven pistons. She drew rein as he came up and he flung himself into the buggy, his big body crowding her to one side. Sweat and blood were streaming down his face as he panted: 　“Is you hu’t? Did dey hu’t you?” 　She could not speak, but seeing the direction of his eyes and their quick averting, she realized that her basque was open to the waist and her bare bosom and corset cover were showing. With a shaking hand she clutched the two edges together and bowing her head began to cry in terrified sobs. 　“Gimme dem lines,” said Sam, snatching the reins from her. “Hawse, mek tracks!” 　The whip cracked and the startled horse went off at a wild gallop that threatened to throw the buggy into the ditch. 　“Ah hope Ah done kill dat black baboon. But Ah din’ wait ter fine out,” he panted. “But ef he hahmed you, Miss Scarlett, Ah’ll go back an’ mek sho of it.” 　“No—no—drive on quickly,” she sobbed. 　 　CHAPTER XLV 　THAT NIGHT when Frank deposited her and Aunt Pitty and the children at Melanie’s and rode off down the street with Ashley, Scarlett could have burst with rage and hurt. How could he go off to a political meeting on this of all nights in the world? A political meeting! And on the same night when she had been attacked, when anything might have happened to her! It was unfeeling and selfish of him. But then, he had taken the whole affair with maddening calm, ever since Sam had carried her sobbing into the house, her basque gaping to the waist. He hadn’t clawed his beard even once when she cried out her story. He had just questioned gently: “Sugar, are you hurt—or just scared?”