She brought me something to put on, and had I thought about it then, I would have never let her forget it:
in her distraction, Aunty brought me my overalls. “Put these on, darling,” she said, handing me the garments she most despised.
She rushed back to Jem’s room, then came to me in the hall. She patted me vaguely, and went back to Jem’s room.
A car stopped in front of the house. I knew Dr. Reynolds’s step almost as well as my father’s.
He had brought Jem and me into the world, had led us through every childhood disease known to man
including the time Jem fell out of the treehouse, and he had never lost our friendship.
Dr. Reynolds said if we had been boil-prone things would have been different, but we doubted it.
He came in the door and said, “Good Lord.” He walked toward me, said, “You’re still standing,” and changed his course.
He knew every room in the house. He also knew that if I was in bad shape, so was Jem.
After ten forevers Dr. Reynolds returned. “Is Jem dead?” I asked.
“Far from it,” he said, squatting down to me.He’s got a bump on the head just like yours, and a broken arm.
Scout, look that way—no, don’t turn your head, roll your eyes. Now look over yonder.
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