minmarn/Gone_with_the_wind · Datasets at Hugging Face

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corners and whisper discreetly and with malicious pleasure.
Scarlett Butler tumbled from her high and mighty place! And the
story would grow and grow. There was no way of stopping it. It
wouldn't stop at the bare facts, that Ashley was holding her in his
arms while she cried. Before nightfall people would be saying she
had been taken in adultery. And it had been so innocent, so sweet!
Scarlett thought wildly: If we had been caught that Christmas of
his furlough when I kissed him good-by--if we had been caught in
the orchard at Tara when I begged him to run away with me--oh, if
we'd been caught any of the times when we were really guilty, it
wouldn't be so bad! But now! Now! When I went to his arms as a
friend--

But no one would believe that. She wouldn't have a single friend
to take her part, not a single voice would be raised to say: "I
don't believe she was doing anything wrong." She had outraged old
friends too long to find a champion among them now. Her new
friends, suffering in silence under her insolences, would welcome a
chance to blackguard her. No, everybody would believe anything
about her, though they might regret that so fine a man as Ashley
Wilkes was mixed up in so dirty an affair. As usual they would
cast the blame upon the woman and shrug at the man's guilt. And in
this case they would be right. She had gone into his arms.

Oh, she could stand the cuts, the slights, the covert smiles,
anything the town might say, if she had to stand them--but not
Melanie! Oh, not Melanie! She did not know why she should mind
Melanie knowing, more than anyone else. She was too frightened and
weighed down by a sense of past guilt to try to understand it. But
she burst into tears at the thought of what would be in Melanie's
eyes when India told her that she had caught Ashley fondling
Scarlett. And what would Melanie do when she knew? Leave Ashley?
What else could she do, with any dignity? And what will Ashley and
I do then? she thought frenziedly, the tears streaming down her
face. Oh, Ashley will die of shame and hate me for bringing this
on him. Suddenly her tears stopped short as a deadly fear went
through her heart. What of Rhett? What would he do?

Perhaps he'd never know. What was that old saying, that cynical
saying? "The husband is always the last to find out." Perhaps no
one would tell him. It would take a brave man to break such news
to Rhett, for Rhett had the reputation for shooting first and
asking questions afterwards. Please, God, don't let anybody be
brave enough to tell him! But she remembered the face of Archie in
the lumber office, the cold, pale eye, remorseless, full of hate
for her and all women. Archie feared neither God nor man and he
hated loose women. He had hated them enough to kill one. And he
had said he would tell Rhett. And he'd tell him in spite of all
Ashley could do to dissuade him. Unless Ashley killed him, Archie
would tell Rhett, feeling it his Christian duty.

She pulled off her clothes and lay down on the bed, her mind
whirling round and round. If she could only lock her door and stay
in this safe place forever and ever and never see anyone again.
Perhaps Rhett wouldn't find out tonight. She'd say she had a
headache and didn't feel like going to the reception. By morning
she would have thought up some excuse to offer, some defense that
might hold water.

"I won't think of it now," she said desperately, burying her face
in the pillow. "I won't think of it now. I'll think of it later
when I can stand it."

She heard the servants come back as night fell and it seemed to her
that they were very silent as they moved about preparing supper.
Or was it her guilty conscience? Mammy came to the door and
knocked but Scarlett sent her away, saying she did not want any
supper. Time passed and finally she heard Rhett coming up the
steps. She held herself tensely as he reached the upper hall,
gathered all her strength for a meeting but he passed into his
room. She breathed easier. He hadn't heard. Thank God, he still
respected her icy request that he never put foot in her bedroom
again, for if he saw her now, her face would give her away. She
must gather herself together enough to tell him that she felt too
ill to go to the reception. Well, there was time enough for her to
calm herself. Or was there time? Since the awful moment that
afternoon, life had seemed timeless. She heard Rhett moving about
in his room for a long time, speaking occasionally to Pork. Still
she could not find courage to call to him. She lay still on the
bed in the darkness, shaking.

After a long time, he knocked on her door and she said, trying to
control her voice: "Come in."

"Am I actually being invited into the sanctuary?" he questioned,
opening the door. It was dark and she could not see his face. Nor
could she make anything of his voice. He entered and closed the
door.

"Are you ready for the reception?"

"I'm so sorry but I have a headache." How odd that her voice
sounded natural! Thank God for the dark! "I don't believe I'll
go. You go, Rhett, and give Melanie my regrets."

There was a long pause and he spoke drawlingly, bitingly in the
dark.

"What a white livered, cowardly little bitch you are."

corners and whisper discreetly and with malicious pleasure.

Scarlett Butler tumbled from her high and mighty place! And the

story would grow and grow. There was no way of stopping it. It

wouldn't stop at the bare facts, that Ashley was holding her in his

arms while she cried. Before nightfall people would be saying she

had been taken in adultery. And it had been so innocent, so sweet!

Scarlett thought wildly: If we had been caught that Christmas of

his furlough when I kissed him good-by--if we had been caught in

the orchard at Tara when I begged him to run away with me--oh, if

we'd been caught any of the times when we were really guilty, it

wouldn't be so bad! But now! Now! When I went to his arms as a

friend--

But no one would believe that. She wouldn't have a single friend

to take her part, not a single voice would be raised to say: "I

don't believe she was doing anything wrong." She had outraged old

friends too long to find a champion among them now. Her new

friends, suffering in silence under her insolences, would welcome a

chance to blackguard her. No, everybody would believe anything

about her, though they might regret that so fine a man as Ashley

Wilkes was mixed up in so dirty an affair. As usual they would

cast the blame upon the woman and shrug at the man's guilt. And in

this case they would be right. She had gone into his arms.

Oh, she could stand the cuts, the slights, the covert smiles,

anything the town might say, if she had to stand them--but not

Melanie! Oh, not Melanie! She did not know why she should mind

Melanie knowing, more than anyone else. She was too frightened and

weighed down by a sense of past guilt to try to understand it. But

she burst into tears at the thought of what would be in Melanie's

eyes when India told her that she had caught Ashley fondling

Scarlett. And what would Melanie do when she knew? Leave Ashley?

What else could she do, with any dignity? And what will Ashley and

I do then? she thought frenziedly, the tears streaming down her

face. Oh, Ashley will die of shame and hate me for bringing this

on him. Suddenly her tears stopped short as a deadly fear went

through her heart. What of Rhett? What would he do?

Perhaps he'd never know. What was that old saying, that cynical

saying? "The husband is always the last to find out." Perhaps no

one would tell him. It would take a brave man to break such news

to Rhett, for Rhett had the reputation for shooting first and

asking questions afterwards. Please, God, don't let anybody be

brave enough to tell him! But she remembered the face of Archie in

the lumber office, the cold, pale eye, remorseless, full of hate

for her and all women. Archie feared neither God nor man and he

hated loose women. He had hated them enough to kill one. And he

had said he would tell Rhett. And he'd tell him in spite of all

Ashley could do to dissuade him. Unless Ashley killed him, Archie

would tell Rhett, feeling it his Christian duty.

She pulled off her clothes and lay down on the bed, her mind

whirling round and round. If she could only lock her door and stay

in this safe place forever and ever and never see anyone again.

Perhaps Rhett wouldn't find out tonight. She'd say she had a

headache and didn't feel like going to the reception. By morning

she would have thought up some excuse to offer, some defense that

might hold water.

"I won't think of it now," she said desperately, burying her face

in the pillow. "I won't think of it now. I'll think of it later

when I can stand it."

She heard the servants come back as night fell and it seemed to her

that they were very silent as they moved about preparing supper.

Or was it her guilty conscience? Mammy came to the door and

knocked but Scarlett sent her away, saying she did not want any

supper. Time passed and finally she heard Rhett coming up the

steps. She held herself tensely as he reached the upper hall,

gathered all her strength for a meeting but he passed into his

room. She breathed easier. He hadn't heard. Thank God, he still

respected her icy request that he never put foot in her bedroom

again, for if he saw her now, her face would give her away. She

must gather herself together enough to tell him that she felt too

ill to go to the reception. Well, there was time enough for her to

calm herself. Or was there time? Since the awful moment that

afternoon, life had seemed timeless. She heard Rhett moving about

in his room for a long time, speaking occasionally to Pork. Still

she could not find courage to call to him. She lay still on the

bed in the darkness, shaking.

After a long time, he knocked on her door and she said, trying to

control her voice: "Come in."

"Am I actually being invited into the sanctuary?" he questioned,

opening the door. It was dark and she could not see his face. Nor

could she make anything of his voice. He entered and closed the

door.

"Are you ready for the reception?"

"I'm so sorry but I have a headache." How odd that her voice

sounded natural! Thank God for the dark! "I don't believe I'll

go. You go, Rhett, and give Melanie my regrets."

There was a long pause and he spoke drawlingly, bitingly in the

dark.

"What a white livered, cowardly little bitch you are."