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           JudgeTaylor’scigarwasabrownspeckinthecenterofhismouth;Mr.Gilmerwaswritingononeoftheyellowpadsonhistable,tryingtooutdothecourtreporter,whosehandwasjerkingrapidly."Shoot,"Imuttered,"wemissedit."

           Atticuswashalfwaythroughhisspeechtothejury.Hehadevidentlypulledsomepapersfromhisbriefcasethatrestedbesidehischair,becausetheywereonhistable.TomRobinsonwastoyingwiththem.

           "...absenceofanycorroborativeevidence,thismanwasindictedonacapitalchargeandisnowontrialforhislife...."

           IpunchedJem."Howlong’shebeenatit?"

           "He’sjustgoneovertheevidence,"Jemwhispered,"andwe’regonnawin,Scout.Idon’tseehowwecan’t.He’sbeenatit‘boutfiveminutes.Hemadeitasplainandeasyas—well,asI’daexplainedittoyou.Youcould’veunderstoodit,even."

           "DidMr.Gilmer—?"

           "Sh-h.Nothingnew,justtheusual.Hushnow."

           Welookeddownagain.Atticuswasspeakingeasily,withthekindofdetachmentheusedwhenhedictatedaletter.Hewalkedslowlyupanddowninfrontofthejury,andthejuryseemedtobeattentive:theirheadswereup,andtheyfollowedAtticus’sroutewithwhatseemedtobeappreciation.IguessitwasbecauseAtticuswasn’tathunderer.

           Atticuspaused,thenhedidsomethinghedidn’tordinarilydo.