His mouth was twisted into a purposeful half-grin, and his eyes were happy.
He said something about corroborating evidence, which made me sure he was showing off.
“…Robert E. Lee Ewell!” In answer to the clerk’s booming voice, a little bantam cock of a man rose and strutted to the stand,
the back of his neck reddening at the sound of his name. When he turned around to take the oath, we saw that his face was as red as his neck.
We also saw no resemblance to his namesake. A shock of wispy new-washed hair stood up from his forehead;
his nose was thin, pointed, and shiny; he had no chin to speak of—it seemed to be part of his crepey neck.
“—so help me God,” he crowed. Every town the size of Maycomb had families like the Ewells.
No economic fluctuations changed their status—people like the Ewells lived as guests of the county
in prosperity as well as in the depths of a depression.
No truant officers could keep their numerous offspring in school;
no public health officer could free them from congenital defects, various worms, and the diseases indigenous to filthy surroundings.
Maycomb’s Ewells lived behind the town garbage dump in what was once a Negro cabin.
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