Atticus’s glasses had slipped a little, and he pushed them up on his nose.
“We’ve had a good visit, Miss Mayella, and now I guess we’d better get to the case. You say you asked Tom Robinson to come chop up a—what was it?”
“A chiffarobe, a old dresser full of drawers on one side.”
Was Tom Robinson well known to you?” “Whaddya mean?” “I mean did you know who he was, where he lived?Mayella nodded.
I knowed who he was, he passed the house every day.” “Was this the first time you asked him to come inside the fence?
Mayella jumped slightly at the question. Atticus was making his slow pilgrimage to the windows, as he had been doing:
he would ask a question, then look out, waiting for an answer.
He did not see her involuntary jump, but it seemed to me that he knew she had moved.
He turned around and raised his eyebrows. “Was—” he began again.
“Yes it was.” “Didn’t you ever ask him to come inside the fence before?”
She was prepared now. “I did not, I certainly did not.”
“One did not’s enough,” said Atticus serenely. “You never asked him to do odd jobs for you before?”
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