Gone with the Wind

by Margaret Mitchell

The trees dripped dampness upon her but she did not feel it. The mist swirled about her and she paid it no heed. For when she thought of Rhett, with his swarthy face, flashing teeth and dark alert eyes, a trembling came over her. “I love him,” she thought and, as always, she accepted the truth with little wonder, as a child accepting a gift. “I don’t know how long I’ve loved him but it’s true. And if it hadn’t been for Ashley, I’d have realized it long ago. I’ve never been able to see the world at all, because Ashley stood in the way.” She loved him, scamp, blackguard, without scruple or honor—at least, honor as Ashley saw it. “Damn Ashley’s honor!” she thought. “Ashley’s honor has always let me down. Yes, from the very beginning when he kept on coming to see me, even though he knew his family expected him to marry Melanie. Rhett has never let me down, even that dreadful night of Melly’s reception when he ought to have wrung my neck. Even when he left me on the road the night Atlanta fell, he knew I’d be safe. He knew I’d get through somehow. Even when he acted like he was going to make me pay to get that money from him at the Yankee camp. He wouldn’t have taken me. He was just testing me. He’s loved me all along and I’ve been so mean to him. Time and again, I’ve hurt him and he was too proud to show it. And when Bonnie died—oh, how could I?”