She gave Miss Maudie a look of pure gratitude, and I wondered at the world of women.
Miss Maudie and Aunt Alexandra had never been especially close, and here was Aunty silently thanking her for something.
For what, I knew not. I was content to learn that Aunt Alexandra could be pierced sufficiently to feel gratitude for help given.
There was no doubt about it, I must soon enter this world, where on its surface fragrant ladies rocked slowly,
fanned gently, and drank cool water. But I was more at home in my father’s world.
People like Mr. Heck Tate did not trap you with innocent questions to make fun of you;
even Jem was not highly critical unless you said something stupid.
Ladies seemed to live in faint horror of men, seemed unwilling to approve wholeheartedly of them.
But I liked them. There was something about them, no matter how much they cussed and drank and gambled and chewed;
no matter how undelectable they were, there was something about them that I instinctively liked… they weren’t—
“Hypocrites, Mrs. Perkins, born hypocrites,” Mrs. Merriweather was saying.
At least we don’t have that sin on our shoulders down here. People up there set ‘em free, but you don’t see ’em settin’ at the table with ’em.
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