We raced back to the courthouse, up the steps, up two flights of stairs, and edged our way along the balcony rail.
Reverend Sykes had saved our seats. The courtroom was still, and again I wondered where the babies were.
Judge Taylor’s cigar was a brown speck in the center of his mouth;
Mr. Gilmer was writing on one of the yellow pads on his table, trying to outdo the court reporter, whose hand was jerking rapidly.
“Shoot,” I muttered, “we missed it.” Atticus was halfway through his speech to the jury.
He had evidently pulled some papers from his briefcase that rested beside his chair, because they were on his table.
Tom Robinson was toying with them.
“…absence of any corroborative evidence, this man was indicted on a capital charge and is now on trial for his life…
I punched Jem. “How long’s he been at it?” “He’s just gone over the evidence,” Jem whispered, “and we’re gonna win, Scout.
I don’t see how we can’t. He’s been at it ‘bout five minutes.
He made it as plain and easy as—well, as I’da explained it to you. You could’ve understood it, even.”
“Did Mr. Gilmer—?” “Sh-h. Nothing new, just the usual. Hush now.”
전체재생
다음페이지
문장검색