The one with whom, at any rate, all other relationships are blended so that when, for example, we take a lover, we never get thoroughly oriented against him, he remains, from our point, the same distance as if we were all-knowing, totally knowing, that we love him. We pour sweet innocent tears from the barrel to his feet, whilst he himself is in no way “fully grossed” by this influx of sweet tears. However, the true enigma is not the mystery of the relationship between Charlie and Scarlett O'Hara but why this strange censorship occurs. Why are we not taken aback by the appearance of Madeleine’s face, the strange face with a strange number of features? Why are we taken aback by the strange gaze that observes Scottie’s cigarette? Why is the very pattern of macabre exaggeration and fascination growing longer?
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