But the minutes slipped by and Gerald did not come. She looked down the road for him, the pain in her heart swelling up again. "Oh, it can't be true!" she thought. "Why doesn't he come?" Her eyes followed the winding road, blood-red now after the morning rain. In her ...
She did not tell her mother that it was the dancing and the beaux which drew her back to Atlanta and not the service of the Confederacy. There were many things she kept from her mother these days. But, most of all, she kept secret the fact that Rhett Butler called frequently at Aunt...
Why hadn’t she brought her sun hat? Why hadn’t she brought something to eat? She’d acted like a fool. But, of course, she’d thought Rhett would take care of them. Rhett! She spat on the ground, for the very name tasted bad. How she hated him! How contemptible he had been...
Then at the thought of Ashley barefooted, Scarlett could have cried. Let other soldiers limp by in rags with their feet tied up in sacks and strips of carpet, but not Ashley. He should come home on a prancing horse, dressed in fine clothes and shining boots, a plume in his hat. It ...
you’ve closed the number. I’m not sure it is a good strategy (although as mentioned, XOX is leading the league), but it can be damned disconcerting if you let it get into your head. So, I think we surprised them a bit last night by giving them a taste of their own medicine. ...
“It isn’t the darkies, Scarlett. They’re just the excuse. There’ll always be wars because men lovewars. Women don’t, but men do—yea, passing the love of women.”His mouth twisted in his old smile and the seriousness was gone from his face. He lifted hiswide Panama hat....
He shook his head, but Jamie could see the gleam of his eyes beneath his hat brim. “Hung a few of ’em, down home. Put a scare into the others, and they left.” He cleared his throat and spat, landing a gob of yellowish phlegm near Jamie’s foot. “Now. This Captain ...
Scarlett O'Hara was not beautiful, but men seldom realized it when caught by her charm as the Tarleton twins were. In her face were too sharply blended the delicate features of her mother, a Coast aristocrat of French descent, and the heavy ones of her florid Irish father. But it was ...
it was time for Gerald O’Hara to be leaving and leaving suddenly. True, he had called the rent agent “a bastard of an Orangeman,” but that, according to Gerald’s way of looking at it, did not give the man any right to insult him by whistling the opening bars of “The Boyne ...
“That gun—it’s not—” The first private stepped up behind him and punched him solidly in the kidney. His insides clenched as though he’d been stabbed in the stomach, and his vision went white. He gave at the knees but didn’t quite fall down, instead curling up on himself ...