minmarn/Gone_with_the_wind · Datasets at Hugging Face

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dollars and cents. Whereas, we, dear wife of my bosom, could have
been perfectly happy if you had ever given us half a chance, for we
are so much alike. We are both scoundrels, Scarlett, and nothing
is beyond us when we want something. We could have been happy, for
I loved you and I know you, Scarlett, down to your bones, in a way
that Ashley could never know you. And he would despise you if he
did know. . . . But no, you must go mooning all your life after a
man you cannot understand. And I, my darling, will continue to
moon after whores. And, I dare say we'll do better than most
couples."

He released her abruptly and made a weaving way back toward the
decanter. For a moment, Scarlett stood rooted, thoughts tearing in
and out of her mind so swiftly that she could seize none of them
long enough to examine them. Rhett had said he loved her. Did he
mean it? Or was he merely drunk? Or was this one of his horrible
jokes? And Ashley--the moon--crying for the moon. She ran swiftly
into the dark hall, fleeing as though demons were upon her. Oh, if
she could only reach her room! She turned her ankle and the slipper
fell half off. As she stopped to kick it loose frantically, Rhett,
running lightly as an Indian, was beside her in the dark. His
breath was not on her face and his hands went round her roughly,
under the wrapper, against her bare skin.

"You turned me out on the town while you chased him. By God, this
is one night when there are only going to be two in my bed."

He swung her off her feet into his arms and started up the stairs.
Her head was crushed against his chest and she heard the hard
hammering of his heart beneath her ears. He hurt her and she cried
out, muffled, frightened. Up the stairs he went in the utter
darkness, up, up, and she was wild with fear. He was a mad
stranger and this was a black darkness she did not know, darker
than death. He was like death, carrying her away in arms that
hurt. She screamed, stifled against him and he stopped suddenly on
the landing and, turning her swiftly in his arms, bent over and
kissed her with a savagery and a completeness that wiped out
everything from her mind but the dark into which she was sinking
and the lips on hers. He was shaking, as though he stood in a
strong wind, and his lips, traveling from her mouth downward to
where the wrapper had fallen from her body, fell on her soft flesh.
He was muttering things she did not hear, his lips were evoking
feelings never felt before. She was darkness and he was darkness
and there had never been anything before this time, only darkness
and his lips upon her. She tried to speak and his mouth was over
hers again. Suddenly she had a wild thrill such as she had never
known; joy, fear, madness, excitement, surrender to arms that were
too strong, lips too bruising, fate that moved too fast. For the
first time in her life she had met someone, something stronger than
she, someone she could neither bully nor break, someone who was
bullying and breaking her. Somehow, her arms were around his neck
and her lips trembling beneath his and they were going up, up into
the darkness again, a darkness that was soft and swirling and all
enveloping.



When she awoke the next morning, he was gone and had it not been
for the rumpled pillow beside her, she would have thought the
happenings of the night before a wild preposterous dream. She went
crimson at the memory and, pulling the bed covers up about her
neck, lay bathed in sunlight, trying to sort out the jumbled
impressions in her mind.

Two things stood to the fore. She had lived for years with Rhett,
slept with him, eaten with him, quarreled with him and borne his
child--and yet, she did not know him. The man who had carried her
up the dark stairs was a stranger of whose existence she had not
dreamed. And now, though she tried to make herself hate him, tried
to be indignant, she could not. He had humbled her, hurt her, used
her brutally through a wild mad night and she had gloried in it.

Oh, she should be ashamed, should shrink from the very memory of
the hot swirling darkness! A lady, a real lady, could never hold
up her head after such a night. But, stronger than shame, was the
memory of rapture, of the ecstasy of surrender. For the first time
in her life she had felt alive, felt passion as sweeping and
primitive as the fear she had known the night she fled Atlanta, as
dizzy sweet as the cold hate when she had shot the Yankee.

Rhett loved her! At least, he said he loved her and how could she
doubt it now? How odd and bewildering and how incredible that he
loved her, this savage stranger with whom she had lived in such
coolness. She was not altogether certain how she felt about this
revelation but as an idea came to her she suddenly laughed aloud.
He loved her and so she had him at last. She had almost forgotten
her early desire to entrap him into loving her, so she could hold
the whip over his insolent black head. Now, it came back and it
gave her great satisfaction. For one night, he had had her at his
mercy but now she knew the weakness of his armor. From now on she
had him where she wanted him. She had smarted under his jeers for
a long time, but now she had him where she could make him jump
through any hoops she cared to hold.

When she thought of meeting him again, face to face in the sober
light of day, a nervous tingling embarrassment that carried with it
an exciting pleasure enveloped her.

"I'm nervous as a bride," she thought. "And about Rhett!" And, at
the idea she fell to giggling foolishly.

dollars and cents. Whereas, we, dear wife of my bosom, could have

been perfectly happy if you had ever given us half a chance, for we

are so much alike. We are both scoundrels, Scarlett, and nothing

is beyond us when we want something. We could have been happy, for

I loved you and I know you, Scarlett, down to your bones, in a way

that Ashley could never know you. And he would despise you if he

did know. . . . But no, you must go mooning all your life after a

man you cannot understand. And I, my darling, will continue to

moon after whores. And, I dare say we'll do better than most

couples."

He released her abruptly and made a weaving way back toward the

decanter. For a moment, Scarlett stood rooted, thoughts tearing in

and out of her mind so swiftly that she could seize none of them

long enough to examine them. Rhett had said he loved her. Did he

mean it? Or was he merely drunk? Or was this one of his horrible

jokes? And Ashley--the moon--crying for the moon. She ran swiftly

into the dark hall, fleeing as though demons were upon her. Oh, if

she could only reach her room! She turned her ankle and the slipper

fell half off. As she stopped to kick it loose frantically, Rhett,

running lightly as an Indian, was beside her in the dark. His

breath was not on her face and his hands went round her roughly,

under the wrapper, against her bare skin.

"You turned me out on the town while you chased him. By God, this

is one night when there are only going to be two in my bed."

He swung her off her feet into his arms and started up the stairs.

Her head was crushed against his chest and she heard the hard

hammering of his heart beneath her ears. He hurt her and she cried

out, muffled, frightened. Up the stairs he went in the utter

darkness, up, up, and she was wild with fear. He was a mad

stranger and this was a black darkness she did not know, darker

than death. He was like death, carrying her away in arms that

hurt. She screamed, stifled against him and he stopped suddenly on

the landing and, turning her swiftly in his arms, bent over and

kissed her with a savagery and a completeness that wiped out

everything from her mind but the dark into which she was sinking

and the lips on hers. He was shaking, as though he stood in a

strong wind, and his lips, traveling from her mouth downward to

where the wrapper had fallen from her body, fell on her soft flesh.

He was muttering things she did not hear, his lips were evoking

feelings never felt before. She was darkness and he was darkness

and there had never been anything before this time, only darkness

and his lips upon her. She tried to speak and his mouth was over

hers again. Suddenly she had a wild thrill such as she had never

known; joy, fear, madness, excitement, surrender to arms that were

too strong, lips too bruising, fate that moved too fast. For the

first time in her life she had met someone, something stronger than

she, someone she could neither bully nor break, someone who was

bullying and breaking her. Somehow, her arms were around his neck

and her lips trembling beneath his and they were going up, up into

the darkness again, a darkness that was soft and swirling and all

enveloping.

When she awoke the next morning, he was gone and had it not been

for the rumpled pillow beside her, she would have thought the

happenings of the night before a wild preposterous dream. She went

crimson at the memory and, pulling the bed covers up about her

neck, lay bathed in sunlight, trying to sort out the jumbled

impressions in her mind.

Two things stood to the fore. She had lived for years with Rhett,

slept with him, eaten with him, quarreled with him and borne his

child--and yet, she did not know him. The man who had carried her

up the dark stairs was a stranger of whose existence she had not

dreamed. And now, though she tried to make herself hate him, tried

to be indignant, she could not. He had humbled her, hurt her, used

her brutally through a wild mad night and she had gloried in it.

Oh, she should be ashamed, should shrink from the very memory of

the hot swirling darkness! A lady, a real lady, could never hold

up her head after such a night. But, stronger than shame, was the

memory of rapture, of the ecstasy of surrender. For the first time

in her life she had felt alive, felt passion as sweeping and

primitive as the fear she had known the night she fled Atlanta, as

dizzy sweet as the cold hate when she had shot the Yankee.

Rhett loved her! At least, he said he loved her and how could she

doubt it now? How odd and bewildering and how incredible that he

loved her, this savage stranger with whom she had lived in such

coolness. She was not altogether certain how she felt about this

revelation but as an idea came to her she suddenly laughed aloud.

He loved her and so she had him at last. She had almost forgotten

her early desire to entrap him into loving her, so she could hold

the whip over his insolent black head. Now, it came back and it

gave her great satisfaction. For one night, he had had her at his

mercy but now she knew the weakness of his armor. From now on she

had him where she wanted him. She had smarted under his jeers for

a long time, but now she had him where she could make him jump

through any hoops she cared to hold.

When she thought of meeting him again, face to face in the sober

light of day, a nervous tingling embarrassment that carried with it

an exciting pleasure enveloped her.

"I'm nervous as a bride," she thought. "And about Rhett!" And, at

the idea she fell to giggling foolishly.