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minmarn
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Gone_with_the_wind

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I'm too old to believe in such sentimentalities as clean slates and
starting all over. I'm too old to shoulder the burden of constant
lies that go with living in polite disillusionment. I couldn't
live with you and lie to you and I certainly couldn't lie to
myself. I can't even lie to you now. I wish I could care what you
do or where you go, but I can't."
He drew a short breath and said lightly but softly:
"My dear, I don't give a damn."
* * * * *
She silently watched him go up the stairs, feeling that she would
strangle at the pain in her throat. With the sound of his feet
dying away in the upper hall was dying the last thing in the world
that mattered. She knew now that there was no appeal of emotion or
reason which would turn that cool brain from its verdict. She knew
now that he had meant every word he said, lightly though some of
them had been spoken. She knew because she sensed in him something
strong, unyielding, implacable--all the qualities she had looked
for in Ashley and never found.
She had never understood either of the men she had loved and so she
had lost them both. Now, she had a fumbling knowledge that, had
she ever understood Ashley, she would never have loved him; had she
ever understood Rhett, she would never have lost him. She wondered
forlornly if she had ever really understood anyone in the world.
There was a merciful dullness in her mind now, a dullness that she
knew from long experience would soon give way to sharp pain, even
as severed tissues, shocked by the surgeon's knife, have a brief
instant of insensibility before their agony begins.
"I won't think of it now," she thought grimly, summoning up her old
charm. "I'll go crazy if I think about losing him now. I'll think
of it tomorrow."
"But," cried her heart, casting aside the charm and beginning to
ache, "I can't let him go! There must be some way!"
"I won't think of it now," she said again, aloud, trying to push
her misery to the back of her mind, trying to find some bulwark
against the rising tide of pain. "I'll--why, I'll go home to Tara
tomorrow," and her spirits lifted faintly.
She had gone back to Tara once in fear and defeat and she had
emerged from its sheltering walls strong and armed for victory.
What she had done once, somehow--please God, she could do again!
How, she did not know. She did not want to think of that now. All
she wanted was a breathing space in which to hurt, a quiet place to
lick her wounds, a haven in which to plan her campaign. She
thought of Tara and it was as if a gentle cool hand were stealing
over her heart. She could see the white house gleaming welcome to
her through the reddening autumn leaves, feel the quiet hush of the
country twilight coming down over her like a benediction, feel the
dews falling on the acres of green bushes starred with fleecy
white, see the raw color of the red earth and the dismal dark
beauty of the pines on the rolling hills.
She felt vaguely comforted, strengthened by the picture, and some
of her hurt and frantic regret was pushed from the top of her mind.
She stood for a moment remembering small things, the avenue of dark
cedars leading to Tara, the banks of cape jessamine bushes, vivid
green against the white walls, the fluttering white curtains. And
Mammy would be there. Suddenly she wanted Mammy desperately, as
she had wanted her when she was a little girl, wanted the broad
bosom on which to lay her head, the gnarled black hand on her hair.
Mammy, the last link with the old days.
With the spirit of her people who would not know defeat, even when
it stared them in the face, she raised her chin. She could get
Rhett back. She knew she could. There had never been a man she
couldn't get, once she set her mind upon him.
"I'll think of it all tomorrow, at Tara. I can stand it then.
Tomorrow, I'll think of some way to get him back. After all,
tomorrow is another day."
THE END
Project Gutenberg Australia