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           "Mrs.Dubose?"hecalled.

           Jessieopenedthewooddoorandunlatchedthescreendoor.

           "Isthatyou,JemFinch?"shesaid."Yougotyoursisterwithyou.Idon’tknow—"

           "Let‘embothin,Jessie,"saidMrs.Dubose.Jessieadmittedusandwentofftothekitchen.

           Anoppressiveodormetuswhenwecrossedthethreshold,anodorIhadmetmanytimesinrain-rottedgrayhouseswheretherearecoal-oillamps,waterdippers,andunbleacheddomesticsheets.Italwaysmademeafraid,expectant,watchful.

           Inthecorneroftheroomwasabrassbed,andinthebedwasMrs.Dubose.IwonderedifJem’sactivitieshadputherthere,andforamomentIfeltsorryforher.Shewaslyingunderapileofquiltsandlookedalmostfriendly.

           Therewasamarble-toppedwashstandbyherbed;onitwereaglasswithateaspooninit,aredearsyringe,aboxofabsorbentcotton,andasteelalarmclockstandingonthreetinylegs.

           "Soyoubroughtthatdirtylittlesisterofyours,didyou?"washergreeting.

           Jemsaidquietly,"Mysisterain’tdirtyandIain’tscaredofyou,"althoughInoticedhiskneesshaking.

           Iwasexpectingatirade,butallshesaidwas,"Youmaycommencereading,Jeremy."