minmarn/Gone_with_the_wind · Datasets at Hugging Face

text stringlengths 0 75
closing of a door.

She said, "My God!" again and walking slowly to the bed, sat down
upon it and dropped her head in her hands. She was suddenly tired,
more tired than she had ever been in all her life. With the sound
of the closing door, the strain under which she had been laboring,
the strain which had given her strength, suddenly snapped. She
felt exhausted in body and drained of emotions. Now she felt no
sorrow or remorse, no fear or amazement. She was tired and her
mind ticked away dully, mechanically, as the clock on the mantel.

Out of the dullness, one thought arose. Ashley did not love her
and had never really loved her and the knowledge did not hurt. It
should hurt. She should be desolate, broken hearted, ready to
scream at fate. She had relied upon his love for so long. It had
upheld her through so many dark places. Yet, there the truth was.
He did not love her and she did not care. She did not care because
she did not love him. She did not love him and so nothing he could
do or say could hurt her.

She lay down on the bed and put her head on the pillow tiredly.
Useless to try to combat the idea, useless to say to herself: "But
I do love him. I've loved him for years. Love can't change to
apathy in a minute."

But it could change and it had changed.

"He never really existed at all, except in my imagination," she
thought wearily. "I loved something I made up, something that's
just as dead as Melly is. I made a pretty suit of clothes and fell
in love with it. And when Ashley came riding along, so handsome,
so different, I put that suit on him and made him wear it whether
it fitted him or not. And I wouldn't see what he really was. I
kept on loving the pretty clothes--and not him at all."

Now she could look back down the long years and see herself in
green flowered dimity, standing in the sunshine at Tara, thrilled
by the young horseman with his blond hair shining like a silver
helmet. She could see so clearly now that he was only a childish
fancy, no more important really than her spoiled desire for the
aquamarine earbobs she had coaxed out of Gerald. For, once she
owned the earbobs, they had lost their value, as everything except
money lost its value once it was hers. And so he, too, would have
become cheap if, in those first far-away days, she had ever had the
satisfaction of refusing to marry him. If she had ever had him at
her mercy, seen him grown passionate, importunate, jealous, sulky,
pleading, like the other boys, the wild infatuation which had
possessed her would have passed, blowing away as lightly as mist
before sunshine and light wind when she met a new man.

"What a fool I've been," she thought bitterly. "And now I've got
to pay for it. What I've wished for so often has happened. I've
wished Melly was dead so I could have him. And now she's dead and
I've got him and I don't want him. His damned honor will make him
ask me if I want to divorce Rhett and marry him. Marry him? I
wouldn't have him on a silver platter! But, just the same I've got
him round my neck for the rest of my life. As long as I live I'll
have to look after him and see that he doesn't starve and that
people don't hurt his feelings. He'll be just another child,
clinging to my skirts. I've lost my lover and I've got another
child. And if I hadn't promised Melly, I'd--I wouldn't care if I
never saw him again."



CHAPTER LXII


She heard whispering voices outside, and going to the door she saw
the frightened negroes standing in the back hall, Dilcey with her
arms sagging under the heavy weight of the sleeping Beau, Uncle
Peter crying, and Cookie wiping her wide wet face on her apron.
All three looked at her, dumbly asking what they were to do now.
She looked up the hall toward the sitting room and saw India and
Aunt Pitty standing speechless, holding each other's hands and, for
once, India had lost her stiff-necked look. Like the negroes, they
looked imploringly at her, expecting her to give instructions. She
walked into the sitting room and the two women closed about her.

"Oh, Scarlett, what--" began Aunt Pitty, her fat, child's mouth
shaking.

"Don't speak to me or I'll scream," said Scarlett. Overwrought
nerves brought sharpness to her voice and her hands clenched at her
sides. The thought of speaking of Melanie now, of making the
inevitable arrangements that follow a death made her throat
tighten. "I don't want a word out of either of you."

At the authoritative note in her voice, they fell back, helpless
hurt looks on their faces. "I mustn't cry in front of them," she
thought. "I mustn't break now or they'll begin crying too, and
then the darkies will begin screaming and we'll all go mad. I must
pull myself together. There's so much I'll have to do. See the
undertaker and arrange the funeral and see that the house is clean
and be here to talk to people who'll cry on my neck. Ashley can't
do them. I've got to do them. Oh, what a weary load! It's always
been a weary load and always some one else's load!"

She looked at the dazed hurt faces of India and Pitty and
contrition swept her. Melanie would not like her to be so sharp

closing of a door.

She said, "My God!" again and walking slowly to the bed, sat down

upon it and dropped her head in her hands. She was suddenly tired,

more tired than she had ever been in all her life. With the sound

of the closing door, the strain under which she had been laboring,

the strain which had given her strength, suddenly snapped. She

felt exhausted in body and drained of emotions. Now she felt no

sorrow or remorse, no fear or amazement. She was tired and her

mind ticked away dully, mechanically, as the clock on the mantel.

Out of the dullness, one thought arose. Ashley did not love her

and had never really loved her and the knowledge did not hurt. It

should hurt. She should be desolate, broken hearted, ready to

scream at fate. She had relied upon his love for so long. It had

upheld her through so many dark places. Yet, there the truth was.

He did not love her and she did not care. She did not care because

she did not love him. She did not love him and so nothing he could

do or say could hurt her.

She lay down on the bed and put her head on the pillow tiredly.

Useless to try to combat the idea, useless to say to herself: "But

I do love him. I've loved him for years. Love can't change to

apathy in a minute."

But it could change and it had changed.

"He never really existed at all, except in my imagination," she

thought wearily. "I loved something I made up, something that's

just as dead as Melly is. I made a pretty suit of clothes and fell

in love with it. And when Ashley came riding along, so handsome,

so different, I put that suit on him and made him wear it whether

it fitted him or not. And I wouldn't see what he really was. I

kept on loving the pretty clothes--and not him at all."

Now she could look back down the long years and see herself in

green flowered dimity, standing in the sunshine at Tara, thrilled

by the young horseman with his blond hair shining like a silver

helmet. She could see so clearly now that he was only a childish

fancy, no more important really than her spoiled desire for the

aquamarine earbobs she had coaxed out of Gerald. For, once she

owned the earbobs, they had lost their value, as everything except

money lost its value once it was hers. And so he, too, would have

become cheap if, in those first far-away days, she had ever had the

satisfaction of refusing to marry him. If she had ever had him at

her mercy, seen him grown passionate, importunate, jealous, sulky,

pleading, like the other boys, the wild infatuation which had

possessed her would have passed, blowing away as lightly as mist

before sunshine and light wind when she met a new man.

"What a fool I've been," she thought bitterly. "And now I've got

to pay for it. What I've wished for so often has happened. I've

wished Melly was dead so I could have him. And now she's dead and

I've got him and I don't want him. His damned honor will make him

ask me if I want to divorce Rhett and marry him. Marry him? I

wouldn't have him on a silver platter! But, just the same I've got

him round my neck for the rest of my life. As long as I live I'll

have to look after him and see that he doesn't starve and that

people don't hurt his feelings. He'll be just another child,

clinging to my skirts. I've lost my lover and I've got another

child. And if I hadn't promised Melly, I'd--I wouldn't care if I

never saw him again."

CHAPTER LXII

She heard whispering voices outside, and going to the door she saw

the frightened negroes standing in the back hall, Dilcey with her

arms sagging under the heavy weight of the sleeping Beau, Uncle

Peter crying, and Cookie wiping her wide wet face on her apron.

All three looked at her, dumbly asking what they were to do now.

She looked up the hall toward the sitting room and saw India and

Aunt Pitty standing speechless, holding each other's hands and, for

once, India had lost her stiff-necked look. Like the negroes, they

looked imploringly at her, expecting her to give instructions. She

walked into the sitting room and the two women closed about her.

"Oh, Scarlett, what--" began Aunt Pitty, her fat, child's mouth

shaking.

"Don't speak to me or I'll scream," said Scarlett. Overwrought

nerves brought sharpness to her voice and her hands clenched at her

sides. The thought of speaking of Melanie now, of making the

inevitable arrangements that follow a death made her throat

tighten. "I don't want a word out of either of you."

At the authoritative note in her voice, they fell back, helpless

hurt looks on their faces. "I mustn't cry in front of them," she

thought. "I mustn't break now or they'll begin crying too, and

then the darkies will begin screaming and we'll all go mad. I must

pull myself together. There's so much I'll have to do. See the

undertaker and arrange the funeral and see that the house is clean

and be here to talk to people who'll cry on my neck. Ashley can't

do them. I've got to do them. Oh, what a weary load! It's always

been a weary load and always some one else's load!"

She looked at the dazed hurt faces of India and Pitty and

contrition swept her. Melanie would not like her to be so sharp