“I’ve never known an Irishman to be a coward. Where’s your much-vaunted courage?”
“Rhett, do please, let me go home and explain.”
“You have eternity in which to explain and only one night to be a martyr in the amphitheater. Get out, darling, and let me see the lions eat you. Get out.”
She went up the walk somehow, the arm she was holding as hard and steady as granite, communicating to her some courage. By God, she could face them and she would. What were they but a bunch of howling, clawing cats who were jealous of her? She’d show them. She didn’t care what they thought. Only Melanie—only Melanie.
They were on the porch and Rhett was bowing right and left, his hat in his hand, his voice cool and soft. The music stopped as they entered and the crowd of people seemed to her confused mind to surge up to her like the roar of the sea and then ebb away, with lessening, ever-lessening sound. Was everyone going to cut her? Well, God’s nightgown, let them do it! Her chin went up and she smiled, the corners of her eyes crinkling.
Vivien Leigh as Scarlett O’Hara in GONE WITH THE WIND 1939 | dir. Victor Fleming
