“You’re still too little,” she said. “I’ll tell you when you ain’t.” I said it might help my stomach.
“All right,” she said, and got a cup from the sideboard. She poured one tablespoonful of coffee into it and filled the cup to the brim with milk.
I thanked her by sticking out my tongue at it, and looked up to catch Aunty’s warning frown. But she was frowning at Atticus.
She waited until Calpurnia was in the kitchen, then she said, “Don’t talk like that in front of them.”
“Talk like what in front of whom?” he asked. “Like that in front of Calpurnia. You said Braxton Underwood despises Negroes right in front of her.”
“Well, I’m sure Cal knows it. Everybody in Maycomb knows it.”
I was beginning to notice a subtle change in my father these days, that came out when he talked with Aunt Alexandra.
It was a quiet digging in, never outright irritation.
There was a faint starchiness in his voice when he said, “Anything fit to say at the table’s fit to say in front of Calpurnia.
She knows what she means to this family.” “I don’t think it’s a good habit, Atticus. It encourages them.
You know how they talk among themselves. Every thing that happens in this town’s out to the Quarters before sundown.
My father put down his knife.I don’t know of any law that says they can’t talk.
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