and it was like watching Atticus walk into the street, raise a rifle to his shoulder and pull the trigger,
but watching all the time knowing that the gun was empty.
A jury never looks at a defendant it has convicted, and when this jury came in, not one of them looked at Tom Robinson.
The foreman handed a piece of paper to Mr. Tate who handed it to the clerk who handed it to the judge…
I shut my eyes. Judge Taylor was polling the jury: “Guilty… guilty… guilty… guilty…”
I peeked at Jem: his hands were white from gripping the balcony rail,
and his shoulders jerked as if each “guilty” was a separate stab between them.
Judge Taylor was saying something. His gavel was in his fist, but he wasn’t using it.
Dimly, I saw Atticus pushing papers from the table into his briefcase.
He snapped it shut, went to the court reporter and said something, nodded to Mr. Gilmer,
and then went to Tom Robinson and whispered something to him.
Atticus put his hand on Tom’s shoulder as he whispered.
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