Chapter 63

           Thefrontdoorwasslightlyajarandshetrotted,breathless,intothehallandpausedforamomentundertherainbowprismsofthechandelier.Forallitsbrightnessthehousewasverystill,notwiththeserenestillnessofsleepbutwithawatchful,tiredsilencethatwasfaintlyominous.ShesawataglancethatRhettwasnotintheparlororthelibraryandherheartsank.SupposeheshouldbeoutoutwithBelleorwhereveritwashespentthemanyeveningswhenhedidnotappearatthesuppertable?Shehadnotbargainedonthis.

           Shehadstartedupthestepsinsearchofhimwhenshesawthatthedoorofthediningroomwasclosed.Herheartcontractedalittlewithshameatthesightofthatcloseddoor,rememberingthemanynightsofthislastsummerwhenRhetthadsattherealone,drinkinguntilhewassoddenandPorkcametourgehimtobed.Thathadbeenherfaultbutshe’dchangeitall.Everythingwastobedifferentfromnowonbut,pleaseGod,don’tlethimbetoodrunktonight.Ifhe’stoodrunkhewon’tbelievemeandhe’lllaughatmeandthatwillbreakmyheart.

           Shequietlyopenedthedining-roomdooracrackandpeeredin.Hewasseatedbeforethetable,slumpedinhischair,andafulldecanterstoodbeforehimwiththestopperinplace,theglassunused.ThankGod,hewassober!Shepulledopenthedoor,holdingherselfbackfromrunningtohim.Butwhenhelookedupather,somethinginhisgazestoppedherdeadonthethreshold,stilledthewordsonherlips.

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