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           "Shecan’thelpthat.Whenpeoplearesicktheydon’tlooknicesometimes."

           "Shescaredme,"Isaid.

           Atticuslookedatmeoverhisglasses."Youdon’thavetogowithJem,youknow."

           ThenextafternoonatMrs.Dubose’swasthesameasthefirst,andsowasthenext,untilgraduallyapatternemerged:everythingwouldbeginnormally—thatis,Mrs.DubosewouldhoundJemforawhileonherfavoritesubjects,hercamelliasandourfather’snigger-lovingpropensities;shewouldgrowincreasinglysilent,thengoawayfromus.Thealarmclockwouldring,Jessiewouldshoousout,andtherestofthedaywasours.

           "Atticus,"Isaidoneevening,"whatexactlyisanigger-lover?"

           Atticus’sfacewasgrave."Hassomebodybeencallingyouthat?"

           "Nosir,Mrs.Dubosecallsyouthat.Shewarmsupeveryafternooncallingyouthat.FranciscalledmethatlastChristmas,that’swhereIfirstheardit."

           "Isthatthereasonyoujumpedonhim?"askedAtticus.

           "Yessir..."

           "Thenwhyareyouaskingmewhatitmeans?"

           ItriedtoexplaintoAtticusthatitwasn’tsomuchwhatFrancissaidthathadinfuriatedmeasthewayhehadsaidit."Itwaslikehe’dsaidsnot-noseorsomethin’."

           "Scout,"saidAtticus,"nigger-loverisjustoneofthosetermsthatdon’tmeananything—likesnot-nose.