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| 2017/02/09 15:11:23瀏覽91｜回應0｜推薦0 | |
| Melaniedid not even look up when Ashley opened the bedroom door, but sped inside. Ashley said goodnight abruptly, and he did not meet Scarlett’s eyes either. The door closed behind them, leaving Scarlett open mouthed and suddenly desolate. Ashley was no longer hers. He was Melanie’s. And as long as Melanie lived, she could go into rooms withAshley and close the door—and close out the rest of the world. Now Ashley was going away, back to Virginia, back to the long marches in the sleet, to hungrybivouacs in the snow, to pain and hardship and to the risk of all the bright beauty of his goldenhead and proud slender body being blotted out in an instant, like an ant beneath a careless heel. The past week with its shimmering, dreamlike beauty, its crowded a police shieldcould hold me upside down and drainmy gutschange your mind hours of happiness, was gone. The week had passed swiftly, like a dream, a dream fragrant with the smell of pine boughs andChristmas trees, bright with little candles and home-made tinsel, a dream where minutes flew . Such a breathless week when something within her drove Scarlett withmingled pain and pleasure to pack and cram every minute with incidents to remember after he wasgone, happenings which she could examine at leisure in the long months ahead, extracting everymorsel of comfort from them—dance, sing, laugh, fetch and carry for Ashley, anticipate his wants,smile when he smiles, be silent when he talks, follow him with your eyes so that each line of hiserect body, each lift of his eyebrows, each quirk of his mouth, will be indelibly printed on yourmind—for a week goes by so fast and the war goes on forever. She sat on the divan in the parlor, holding her going-away gift for him in her lap, waiting whilehe said good-by to Melanie, praying that when he did come down the stairs he would be alone andshe might be granted by Heaven a few moments alone with him. Her ears strained for sounds fromupstairs, but the house was oddly still, so still that even the sound of her breathing seemed loud. Aunt Pittypat was crying into her pillows in her room, for Ashley had told her good-by half anhour before. No sounds of murmuring voices or of tears came from behind the closed door ofMelanie’s bedroom. It seemed to Scarlett that he had been in that room for hours, and she resentedbitterly each moment that he stayed, saying good-by to his wife, for the moments were slipping byso fast and his time was so short. |
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