and tell the—tell us what happened to you. You can do that, can’t you?”
I whispered to Jem, “Has she got good sense?” Jem was squinting down at the witness stand.
“Can’t tell yet,” he said. “She’s got enough sense to get the judge sorry for her, but she might be just—oh, I don’t know.”
Mollified, Mayella gave Atticus a final terrified glance and said to Mr. Gilmer,
“Well sir, I was on the porch and—and he came along and, you see, there was this old chiffarobe in the yard
Papa’d brought in to chop up for kindlin’—Papa told me to do it while he was off in the woods
but I wadn’t feelin’ strong enough then, so he came by—” “Who is ‘he’?”
Mayella pointed to Tom Robinson. “I’ll have to ask you to be more specific, please,” said Mr. Gilmer.
“The reporter can’t put down gestures very well.” “That’n yonder,” she said. “Robinson.”
“Then what happened?” “I said come here, nigger, and bust up this chiffarobe for me, I gotta nickel for you.
He coulda done it easy enough, he could. So he come in the yard an’ I went in the house to get him the nickel
and I turned around an ’fore I knew it he was on me. Just run up behind me, he did.
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