Safely out of range, he turned and shouted: “Report and be damned to ye!
Ain’t no snot-nosed slut of a schoolteacher ever born c’n make me do nothin‘!
You ain’t makin’ me go nowhere, missus. You just remember that, you ain’t makin‘ me go nowhere!”
He waited until he was sure she was crying, then he shuffled out of the building.
Soon we were clustered around her desk, trying in our various ways to comfort her.
He was a real mean one… below the belt… you ain’t called on to teach folks like that…
them ain’t Maycomb’s ways, Miss Caroline, not really… now don’t you fret, ma’am.
Miss Caroline, why don’t you read us a story? That cat thing was real fine this mornin‘…”
Miss Caroline smiled, blew her nose, said, “Thank you, darlings,” dispersed us,
opened a book and mystified the first grade with a long narrative about a toadfrog that lived in a hall.
When I passed the Radley Place for the fourth time that day—twice at a full gallop—my gloom had deepened to match the house.
If the remainder of the school year were as fraught with drama as the first day, perhaps it would be mildly entertaining,
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