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- Маргарет Митчелл
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- Стр. 740/927
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He
played
with
her
hand
for
a
moment
and
grinned
up
at
her
.
"
Did
you
ever
in
your
novel
reading
come
across
the
old
situation
of
the
disinterested
wife
falling
in
love
with
her
own
husband
?
"
"
You
know
I
do
n't
read
novels
,
"
she
said
and
,
trying
to
equal
his
jesting
mood
,
went
on
:
"
Besides
,
you
once
said
it
was
the
height
of
bad
form
for
husbands
and
wives
to
love
each
other
.
"
"
I
once
said
too
God
damn
many
things
,
"
he
retorted
abruptly
and
rose
to
his
feet
.
"
Do
n't
swear
.
"
"
You
'll
have
to
get
used
to
it
and
learn
to
swear
too
.
You
'll
have
to
get
used
to
all
my
bad
habits
.
That
'll
be
part
of
the
price
of
being
--
fond
of
me
and
getting
your
pretty
paws
on
my
money
.
"
"
Well
,
do
n't
fly
off
the
handle
so
,
because
I
did
n't
lie
and
make
you
feel
conceited
.
You
are
n't
in
love
with
me
,
are
you
?
Why
should
I
be
in
love
with
you
?
"
"
No
,
my
dear
,
I
'm
not
in
love
with
you
,
no
more
than
you
are
with
me
,
and
if
I
were
,
you
would
be
the
last
person
I
'd
ever
tell
.
God
help
the
man
who
ever
really
loves
you
.
You
'd
break
his
heart
,
my
darling
,
cruel
,
destructive
little
cat
who
is
so
careless
and
confident
she
does
n't
even
trouble
to
sheathe
her
claws
.
"
He
jerked
her
to
her
feet
and
kissed
her
again
,
but
this
time
his
lips
were
different
for
he
seemed
not
to
care
if
he
hurt
her
--
seemed
to
want
to
hurt
her
,
to
insult
her
.
His
lips
slid
down
to
her
throat
and
finally
he
pressed
them
against
the
taffeta
over
her
breast
,
so
hard
and
so
long
that
his
breath
burnt
to
her
skin
.
Her
hands
struggled
up
,
pushing
him
away
in
outraged
modesty
.
