Chapter 43

           ItwasoneofthoserareDecemberdayswhenthesunwasalmostaswarmasIndiansummer.DryredleavesstillclungtotheoakinAuntPitty’syardandafaintyellowgreenstillpersistedinthedyinggrass.Scarlett,withthebabyinherarms,steppedoutontothesideporchandsatdowninarockingchairinapatchofsunshine.ShewaswearinganewgreenchallisdresstrimmedwithyardsandyardsofblackrickrackbraidandanewlacehousecapwhichAuntPittyhadmadeforher.Bothwereverybecomingtoherandsheknewitandtookgreatpleasureinthem.Howgooditwastolookprettyagainafterthelongmonthsoflookingsodreadful!

           Asshesatrockingthebabyandhummingtoherself,sheheardthesoundofhoovescomingupthesidestreetand,peeringcuriouslythroughthetangleofdeadvinesontheporch,shesawRhettButlerridingtowardthehouse.

           HehadbeenawayfromAtlantaformonths,sincejustafterGeralddied,sincelongbeforeEllaLorenawasborn.Shehadmissedhimbutshenowwishedardentlythattherewassomewaytoavoidseeinghim.Infact,thesightofhisdarkfacebroughtafeelingofguiltypanictoherbreast.AmatterinwhichAshleywasconcernedlayonherconscienceandshedidnotwishtodiscussitwithRhett,butsheknewhewouldforcethediscussion,nomatterhowdisinclinedshemightbe.

           Hedrewupatthegateandswunglightlytothegroundandshethought,staringnervouslyathim,thathelookedjustlikeanillustrationinabookWadewasalwayspesteringhertoreadaloud.

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