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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 |
Subsets and Splits