minmarn/Gone_with_the_wind · Datasets at Hugging Face

text stringlengths 0 75
herself, she rolled over and over to the bottom of the flight.



It was the first time Scarlett had ever been ill, except when she
had her babies, and somehow those times did not count. She had not
been forlorn and frightened then, as she was now, weak and pain
racked and bewildered. She knew she was sicker than they dared
tell her, feebly realized that she might die. The broken rib
stabbed when she breathed, her bruised face and head ached and her
whole body was given over to demons who plucked at her with hot
pinchers and sawed on her with dull knives and left her, for short
intervals, so drained of strength that she could not regain grip on
herself before they returned. No, childbirth had not been like
this. She had been able to eat hearty meals two hours after Wade
and Ella and Bonnie had been born, but now the thought of anything
but cool water brought on feeble nausea.

How easy it was to have a child and how painful not to have one!
Strange, what a pang it had been even in her pain, to know that she
would not have this child. Stranger still that it should have been
the first child she really wanted. She tried to think why she
wanted it but her mind was too tired. Her mind was too tired to
think of anything except fear of death. Death was in the room and
she had no strength to confront it, to fight it back and she was
frightened. She wanted someone strong to stand by her and hold her
hand and fight off death until enough strength came back for her to
do her own fighting.

Rage had been swallowed up in pain and she wanted Rhett. But he
was not there and she could not bring herself to ask for him.

Her last memory of him was how he looked as he picked her up in the
dark hall at the bottom of the steps, his face white and wiped
clean of all save hideous fear, his voice hoarsely calling for
Mammy. And then there was a faint memory of being carried
upstairs, before darkness came over her mind. And then pain and
more pain and the room full of buzzing voices and Aunt Pittypat's
sobs and Dr. Meade's brusque orders and feet that hurried on the
stairs and tiptoes in the upper hall. And then like a blinding ray
of lightning, the knowledge of death and fear that suddenly made
her try to scream a name and the scream was only a whisper.

But that forlorn whisper brought instant response from somewhere in
the darkness beside the bed and the soft voice of the one she
called made answer in lullaby tones: "I'm here, dear. I've been
right here all the time."

Death and fear receded gently as Melanie took her hand and laid it
quietly against her cool cheek. Scarlett tried to turn to see her
face and could not. Melly was having a baby and the Yankees were
coming. The town was afire and she must hurry, hurry. But Melly
was having a baby and she couldn't hurry. She must stay with her
till the baby came and be strong because Melly needed her strength.
Melly was hurting so bad--there were hot pinchers at her and dull
knives and recurrent waves of pain. She must hold Melly's hand.

But Dr. Meade was there after all, he had come, even if the soldiers
at the depot did need him for she heard him say: "Delirious.
Where's Captain Butler?"

The night was dark and then light and sometimes she was having a
baby and sometimes it was Melanie who cried out, but through it all
Melly was there and her hands were cool and she did not make futile
anxious gestures or sob like Aunt Pitty. Whenever Scarlett opened
her eyes, she said "Melly?" and the voice answered. And usually
she started to whisper: "Rhett--I want Rhett" and remembered, as
from a dream, that Rhett didn't want her, that Rhett's face was
dark as an Indian's and his teeth were white in a jeer. She wanted
him and he didn't want her.

Once she said "Melly?" and Mammy's voice said: "S'me, chile," and
put a cold rag on her forehead and she cried fretfully: "Melly--
Melanie" over and over but for a long time Melanie did not come.
For Melanie was sitting on the edge of Rhett's bed and Rhett, drunk
and sobbing, was sprawled on the floor, crying, his head in her
lap.

Every time she had come out of Scarlett's room she had seen him,
sitting on his bed, his door wide, watching the door across the
hall. The room was untidy, littered with cigar butts and dishes of
untouched food. The bed was tumbled and unmade and he sat on it,
unshaven and suddenly gaunt, endlessly smoking. He never asked
questions when he saw her. She always stood in the doorway for a
minute, giving the news: "I'm sorry, she's worse," or "No, she
hasn't asked for you yet. You see, she's delirious" or "You
mustn't give up hope, Captain Butler. Let me fix you some hot
coffee and something to eat. You'll make yourself ill."

Her heart always ached with pity for him, although she was almost
too tired and sleepy to feel anything. How could people say such
mean things about him--say he was heartless and wicked and
unfaithful to Scarlett, when she could see him getting thin before
her eyes, see the torment in his face? Tired as she was, she
always tried to be kinder than usual when she gave bulletins from
the sick room. He looked so like a damned soul waiting judgment--
so like a child in a suddenly hostile world. But everyone was like
a child to Melanie.

But when, at last, she went joyfully to his door to tell him that

herself, she rolled over and over to the bottom of the flight.

It was the first time Scarlett had ever been ill, except when she

had her babies, and somehow those times did not count. She had not

been forlorn and frightened then, as she was now, weak and pain

racked and bewildered. She knew she was sicker than they dared

tell her, feebly realized that she might die. The broken rib

stabbed when she breathed, her bruised face and head ached and her

whole body was given over to demons who plucked at her with hot

pinchers and sawed on her with dull knives and left her, for short

intervals, so drained of strength that she could not regain grip on

herself before they returned. No, childbirth had not been like

this. She had been able to eat hearty meals two hours after Wade

and Ella and Bonnie had been born, but now the thought of anything

but cool water brought on feeble nausea.

How easy it was to have a child and how painful not to have one!

Strange, what a pang it had been even in her pain, to know that she

would not have this child. Stranger still that it should have been

the first child she really wanted. She tried to think why she

wanted it but her mind was too tired. Her mind was too tired to

think of anything except fear of death. Death was in the room and

she had no strength to confront it, to fight it back and she was

frightened. She wanted someone strong to stand by her and hold her

hand and fight off death until enough strength came back for her to

do her own fighting.

Rage had been swallowed up in pain and she wanted Rhett. But he

was not there and she could not bring herself to ask for him.

Her last memory of him was how he looked as he picked her up in the

dark hall at the bottom of the steps, his face white and wiped

clean of all save hideous fear, his voice hoarsely calling for

Mammy. And then there was a faint memory of being carried

upstairs, before darkness came over her mind. And then pain and

more pain and the room full of buzzing voices and Aunt Pittypat's

sobs and Dr. Meade's brusque orders and feet that hurried on the

stairs and tiptoes in the upper hall. And then like a blinding ray

of lightning, the knowledge of death and fear that suddenly made

her try to scream a name and the scream was only a whisper.

But that forlorn whisper brought instant response from somewhere in

the darkness beside the bed and the soft voice of the one she

called made answer in lullaby tones: "I'm here, dear. I've been

right here all the time."

Death and fear receded gently as Melanie took her hand and laid it

quietly against her cool cheek. Scarlett tried to turn to see her

face and could not. Melly was having a baby and the Yankees were

coming. The town was afire and she must hurry, hurry. But Melly

was having a baby and she couldn't hurry. She must stay with her

till the baby came and be strong because Melly needed her strength.

Melly was hurting so bad--there were hot pinchers at her and dull

knives and recurrent waves of pain. She must hold Melly's hand.

But Dr. Meade was there after all, he had come, even if the soldiers

at the depot did need him for she heard him say: "Delirious.

Where's Captain Butler?"

The night was dark and then light and sometimes she was having a

baby and sometimes it was Melanie who cried out, but through it all

Melly was there and her hands were cool and she did not make futile

anxious gestures or sob like Aunt Pitty. Whenever Scarlett opened

her eyes, she said "Melly?" and the voice answered. And usually

she started to whisper: "Rhett--I want Rhett" and remembered, as

from a dream, that Rhett didn't want her, that Rhett's face was

dark as an Indian's and his teeth were white in a jeer. She wanted

him and he didn't want her.

Once she said "Melly?" and Mammy's voice said: "S'me, chile," and

put a cold rag on her forehead and she cried fretfully: "Melly--

Melanie" over and over but for a long time Melanie did not come.

For Melanie was sitting on the edge of Rhett's bed and Rhett, drunk

and sobbing, was sprawled on the floor, crying, his head in her

lap.

Every time she had come out of Scarlett's room she had seen him,

sitting on his bed, his door wide, watching the door across the

hall. The room was untidy, littered with cigar butts and dishes of

untouched food. The bed was tumbled and unmade and he sat on it,

unshaven and suddenly gaunt, endlessly smoking. He never asked

questions when he saw her. She always stood in the doorway for a

minute, giving the news: "I'm sorry, she's worse," or "No, she

hasn't asked for you yet. You see, she's delirious" or "You

mustn't give up hope, Captain Butler. Let me fix you some hot

coffee and something to eat. You'll make yourself ill."

Her heart always ached with pity for him, although she was almost

too tired and sleepy to feel anything. How could people say such

mean things about him--say he was heartless and wicked and

unfaithful to Scarlett, when she could see him getting thin before

her eyes, see the torment in his face? Tired as she was, she

always tried to be kinder than usual when she gave bulletins from

the sick room. He looked so like a damned soul waiting judgment--

so like a child in a suddenly hostile world. But everyone was like

a child to Melanie.

But when, at last, she went joyfully to his door to tell him that