Jem seemed to have put out of his mind whatever it was he wanted to forget,
and our classmates mercifully let us forget our father’s eccentricities.
Cecil Jacobs asked me one time if Atticus was a Radical. When I asked Atticus, Atticus was so amused I was rather annoyed,
but he said he wasn’t laughing at me. He said, “You tell Cecil I’m about as radical as Cotton Tom Heflin.”
Aunt Alexandra was thriving. Miss Maudie must have silenced the whole missionary society at one blow, for Aunty again ruled that roost.
Her refreshments grew even more delicious. I learned more about the poor Mrunas’ social life from listening to Mrs. Merriweather:
they had so little sense of family that the whole tribe was one big family.
A child had as many fathers as there were men in the community, as many mothers as there were women.
J. Grimes Everett was doing his utmost to change this state of affairs, and desperately needed our prayers.
Maycomb was itself again. Precisely the same as last year and the year before that, with only two minor changes.
Firstly, people had removed from their store windows and automobiles the stickers that said NRA—WE DO OUR PART.
I asked Atticus why, and he said it was because the National Recovery Act was dead. I asked who killed it: he said nine old men.
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