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Chapter 17
Just-in-your-ownwordswasMr.Gilmer’strademark.Weoftenwonderedwhoelse’swordsMr.Gilmerwasafraidhiswitnessmightemploy.
"Well,thenightofNovembertwenty-oneIwascomin’infromthewoodswithaloado’kindlin’andjustasIgottothefenceIheardMayellascreamin’likeastuckhoginsidethehouse—"
HereJudgeTaylorglancedsharplyatthewitnessandmusthavedecidedhisspeculationsdevoidofevilintent,forhesubsidedsleepily.
"Whattimewasit,Mr.Ewell?"
"Just‘foresundown.Well,Iwassayin’Mayellawasscreamin’fittobeatJesus—"anotherglancefromthebenchsilencedMr.Ewell.
"Yes?Shewasscreaming?"saidMr.Gilmer.
Mr.Ewelllookedconfusedlyatthejudge."Well,Mayellawasraisin’thisholyracketsoIdroppedm’loadandrunasfastasIcouldbutIrunintoth’fence,butwhenIgotdistangledIrunuptoth’windowandIseen—"Mr.Ewell’sfacegrewscarlet.HestoodupandpointedhisfingeratTomRobinson."—Iseenthatblackniggeryonderruttin’onmyMayella!"
SoserenewasJudgeTaylor’scourt,thathehadfewoccasionstousehisgavel,buthehammeredfullyfiveminutes.Atticuswasonhisfeetatthebenchsayingsomethingtohim,Mr.HeckTateasfirstofficerofthecountystoodinthemiddleaislequellingthepackedcourtroom.Behindus,therewasanangrymuffledgroanfromthecoloredpeople.
ReverendSykesleanedacrossDillandme,pullingatJem’selbow."Mr.
