he was speaking in his arid, detached professional voice. “Do you remember him beating you about the face?”
“No, I don’t recollect if he hit me. I mean yes I do, he hit me.” “Was your last sentence your answer?”
“Huh? Yes, he hit—I just don’t remember, I just don’t remember… it all happened so quick.”
Judge Taylor looked sternly at Mayella. “Don’t you cry, young woman—” he began,
but Atticus said, “Let her cry if she wants to, Judge. We’ve got all the time in the world.”
Mayella sniffed wrathfully and looked at Atticus. “I’ll answer any question you got—get me up here an’ mock me, will you?
I’ll answer any question you got—” “That’s fine,” said Atticus. “There’re only a few more.
Miss Mayella, not to be tedious, you’ve testified that the defendant hit you, grabbed you around the neck,
choked you, and took advantage of you. I want you to be sure you have the right man.
Will you identify the man who raped you?” “I will, that’s him right yonder.” Atticus turned to the defendant.
“Tom, stand up. Let Miss Mayella have a good long look at you. Is this the man, Miss Mayella?”
Tom Robinson’s powerful shoulders rippled under his thin shirt. He rose to his feet and stood with his right hand on the back of his chair.
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