He looked oddly off balance, but it was not from the way he was standing.
His left arm was fully twelve inches shorter than his right, and hung dead at his side.
It ended in a small shriveled hand, and from as far away as the balcony I could see that it was no use to him.
“Scout,” breathed Jem. “Scout, look! Reverend, he’s crippled!” Reverend Sykes leaned across me and whispered to Jem.
“He got it caught in a cotton gin, caught it in Mr. Dolphus Raymond’s cotton gin when he was a boy…
like to bled to death… tore all the muscles loose from his bones—”
Atticus said, “Is this the man who raped you?” “It most certainly is.” Atticus’s next question was one word long. “How?”
Mayella was raging.I don’t know how he done it, but he done it—I said it all happened so fast I—
Now let’s consider this calmly—began Atticus, but Mr. Gilmer interrupted with an objection:
he was not irrelevant or immaterial, but Atticus was browbeating the witness.
Judge Taylor laughed outright. “Oh sit down, Horace, he’s doing nothing of the sort.
If anything, the witness’s browbeating Atticus.” Judge Taylor was the only person in the courtroom who laughed.
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