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But Rhett did not appear for dinner, nor was he at his place at the
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supper table. The night passed, a long night during which she lay
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awake until dawn, her ears strained to hear his key in the latch.
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But he did not come. When the second day passed with no word from
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him, she was frantic with disappointment and fear. She went by the
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bank but he was not there. She went to the store and was very
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sharp with everyone, for every time the door opened to admit a
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customer she looked up with a flutter, hoping it was Rhett. She
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went to the lumber yard and bullied Hugh until he hid himself
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behind a pile of lumber. But Rhett did not seek her there.
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She could not humble herself to ask friends if they had seen him.
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She could not make inquiries among the servants for news of him.
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But she felt they knew something she did not know. Negroes always
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knew everything. Mammy was unusually silent those two days. She
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watched Scarlett out of the corner of her eye and said nothing.
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When the second night had passed Scarlett made up her mind to go to
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the police. Perhaps he had had an accident, perhaps his horse had
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thrown him and he was lying helpless in some ditch. Perhaps--oh,
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horrible thought--perhaps he was dead.
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The next morning when she had finished her breakfast and was in her
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room putting on her bonnet, she heard swift feet on the stairs. As
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she sank to the bed in weak thankfulness, Rhett entered the room.
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He was freshly barbered, shaved and massaged and he was sober, but
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his eyes were bloodshot and his face puffy from drink. He waved an
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airy hand at her and said: "Oh, hello."
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How could a man say "Oh, hello," after being gone without
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explanation for two days? How could he be so nonchalant with the
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memory of such a night as they had spent? He couldn't unless--
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unless--the terrible thought leaped into her mind. Unless such
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nights were the usual thing to him. For a moment she could not
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speak and all the pretty gestures and smiles she had thought to use
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upon him were forgotten. He did not even come to her to give her
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his usual offhand kiss but stood looking at her, with a grin, a
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smoking cigar in his hand.
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"Where--where have you been?"
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"Don't tell me you don't know! I thought surely the whole town
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knew by now. Perhaps they all do, except you. You know the old
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adage: 'The wife is always the last one to find out.'"
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"What do you mean?"
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"I thought that after the police called at Belle's night before
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last--"
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"Belle's--that--that woman! You have been with--"
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"Of course. Where else would I be? I hope you haven't worried
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about me."
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"You went from me to--oh!"
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"Come, come, Scarlett! Don't play the deceived wife. You must
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have known about Belle long ago."
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"You went to her from me, after--after--"
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"Oh, that." He made a careless gesture. "I will forget my
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manners. My apologies for my conduct at our last meeting. I was
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very drunk, as you doubtless know, and quite swept off my feet by
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your charms--need I enumerate them?"
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Suddenly she wanted to cry, to lie down on the bed and sob
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endlessly. He hadn't changed, nothing had changed, and she had
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been a fool, a stupid, conceited, silly fool, thinking he loved
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her. It had all been one of his repulsive drunken jests. He had
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taken her and used her when he was drunk, just as he would use any
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woman in Belle's house. And now he was back, insulting, sardonic,
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out of reach. She swallowed her tears and rallied. He must never,
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never know what she had thought. How he would laugh if he knew!
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Well, he'd never know. She looked up quickly at him and caught
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that old, puzzling, watchful glint in his eyes--keen, eager as
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though he hung on her next words, hoping they would be--what was he
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hoping? That she'd make a fool out of herself and bawl and give
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him something to laugh about? Not she! Her slanting brows rushed
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together in a cold frown.
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"I had naturally suspected what your relations with that creature
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were."
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"Only suspected? Why didn't you ask me and satisfy your curiosity?
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I'd have told you. I've been living with her ever since the day
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you and Ashley Wilkes decided that we should have separate
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bedrooms."
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"You have the gall to stand there and boast to me, your wife, that--"
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"Oh, spare me your moral indignation. You never gave a damn what I
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did as long as I paid the bills. And you know I've been no angel
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recently. And as for you being my wife--you haven't been much of a
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wife since Bonnie came, have you? You've been a poor investment,
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Scarlett. Belle's been a better one."
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"Investment? You mean you gave her--?"
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