“No sir, still in him. Looked like a kitchen knife from the handle. Ken oughta be there with the hearse by now, doctor, ‘night.”
Mr. Tate flicked open the knife. “It was like this,” he said.
He held the knife and pretended to stumble; as he leaned forward his left arm went down in front of him.
“See there? Stabbed himself through that soft stuff between his ribs. His whole weight drove it in.”
Mr. Tate closed the knife and jammed it back in his pocket.
“Scout is eight years old,” he said. “She was too scared to know exactly what went on.”
“You’d be surprised,” Atticus said grimly. “I’m not sayin’ she made it up, I’m sayin’ she was too scared to know exactly what happened.
It was mighty dark out there, black as ink. ‘d take somebody mighty used to the dark to make a competent witness…”
I won’t have it,Atticus said softly.God damn it, I’m not thinking of Jem!”
Mr. Tate’s boot hit the floorboards so hard the lights in Miss Maudie’s bedroom went on. Miss Stephanie Crawford’s lights went on.
Atticus and Mr. Tate looked across the street, then at each other. They waited.
When Mr. Tate spoke again his voice was barely audible.
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