“The Ku Klux’s gone,” said Atticus. “It’ll never come back.”
I walked home with Dill and returned in time to overhear Atticus saying to Aunty,
“…in favor of Southern womanhood as much as anybody,
but not for preserving polite fiction at the expense of human life,”
a pronouncement that made me suspect they had been fussing again.
I sought Jem and found him in his room, on the bed deep in thought.
“Have they been at it?” I asked. “Sort of. She won’t let him alone about Tom Robinson.
She almost said Atticus was disgracing the family. Scout… I’m scared.”
“Scared of what?” “Scared about Atticus. Somebody might hurt him.”
Jem preferred to remain mysterious; all he would say to my questions was go on and leave him alone.
Next day was Sunday. In the interval between Sunday School and Church when the congregation stretched its legs,
I saw Atticus standing in the yard with another knot of men.
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