cold and so hungry and so

Rhett was leaning over her when she woke, and without a word he picked her up in his arms like a child and held her close, his hard muscles comforting, his wordless murmuring soothing, until her sobbing ceased. 　“Oh, Rhett, I was so cold and so hungry and so tired and I couldn’t find it. I ran through the mist and I ran but I couldn’t find it.” 　“Find what, honey?” 　“I don’t know. I wish I did know.” 　“Is it your old dream?” 　“Oh, yes!” 　He gently placed her on the bed, fumbled in the darkness and lit a candle. In the light his face with bloodshot eyes and harsh lines was as unreadable as stone. His shirt, opened to the waist, showed a brown chest covered with thick black hair. Scarlett, still shaking with fright, thought how strong and unyielding that chest was, and she whispered: “Hold me, Rhett.” 　“Darling!” he said swiftly, and picking her up he sat down in a large chair, cradling her body against him. 　“Oh, Rhett, it’s awful to be hungry.” 　“It must be awful to dream of starvation after a seven-course dinner including that enormous crawfish.” He smiled but his eyes were kind. 　“Oh, Rhett, I just run and run and hunt and I can’t ever find what it is I’m hunting for. It’s always hidden in the mist. I know if I could find it, I’d be safe forever and ever and never be cold or hungry again.” 　“Is it a person or a thing you’re hunting?” 　“I don’t know. I never thought about it. Rhett, do you think I’ll ever dream that I get there to safety?” 　“No,” he said, smoothing her tumbled hair, “I don’t. Dreams aren’t like that. But I do think that if you get used to being safe and warm and well fed in your everyday life, you’ll stop dreaming that dream. And, Scarlett, I’m going to see that you are safe.” 　“Rhett, you are so nice.”