I looked around the crowd. It was a summer’s night,
but the men were dressed, most of them, in overalls and denim shirts buttoned up to the collars.
I thought they must be cold-natured, as their sleeves were unrolled and buttoned at the cuffs.
Some wore hats pulled firmly down over their ears. They were sullen-looking, sleepy-eyed men who seemed unused to late hours.
I sought once more for a familiar face, and at the center of the semi-circle I found one.
“Hey, Mr. Cunningham.” The man did not hear me, it seemed.
“Hey, Mr. Cunningham. How’s your entailment getting along?”
Mr. Walter Cunningham’s legal affairs were well known to me; Atticus had once described them at length.
The big man blinked and hooked his thumbs in his overall straps.
He seemed uncomfortable; he cleared his throat and looked away.
My friendly overture had fallen flat. Mr. Cunningham wore no hat,
and the top half of his forehead was white in contrast to his sunscorched face, which led me to believe that he wore one most days.
전체재생
다음페이지
문장검색