“Then I’m goin‘ with you —” I choked. “No you ain’t, you’ll just make noise.”
It was no use. I unlatched the back door and held it while he crept down the steps.
It must have been two o’clock. The moon was setting and the lattice-work shadows were fading into fuzzy nothingness.
Jem’s white shirt-tail dipped and bobbed like a small ghost dancing away to escape the coming morning.
A faint breeze stirred and cooled the sweat running down my sides.
He went the back way, through Deer’s Pasture, across the schoolyard and around to the fence, I thought—at least that was the way he was headed.
It would take longer, so it was not time to worry yet.
I waited until it was time to worry and listened for Mr. Radley’s shotgun.
Then I thought I heard the back fence squeak. It was wishful thinking.
Then I heard Atticus cough. I held my breath. Sometimes when we made a midnight pilgrimage to the bathroom we would find him reading.
He said he often woke up during the night, checked on us, and read himself back to sleep.
I waited for his light to go on, straining my eyes to see it flood the hall.
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