You know what I said to my Sophy, Gertrude? I said, ‘Sophy,’ I said, ‘you simply are not being a Christian today.”
Jesus Christ never went around grumbling and complaining,’ and you know, it did her good.”
She took her eyes off that floor and said, ‘Nome, Miz Merriweather, Jesus never went around grumblin’.’”
I tell you, Gertrude, you never ought to let an opportunity go by to witness for the Lord.
I was reminded of the ancient little organ in the chapel at Finch’s Landing.
When I was very small, and if I had been very good during the day, Atticus would let me pump its bellows while he picked out a tune with one finger.
The last note would linger as long as there was air to sustain it.
Mrs. Merriweather had run out of air, I judged, and was replenishing her supply while Mrs. Farrow composed herself to speak.
Mrs. Farrow was a splendidly built woman with pale eyes and narrow feet.
She had a fresh permanent wave, and her hair was a mass of tight gray ringlets. She was the second most devout lady in Maycomb.
She had a curious habit of prefacing everything she said with a soft sibilant sound.
“S-s-s Grace,” she said, “it’s just like I was telling Brother Hutson the other day.”
전체재생
다음페이지
문장검색