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           Thiswasbeyondme."Please,"Ipleaded,"can’tchajustthinkaboutitforaminute—byyourselfonthatplace—"

           "Shutup!"

           "It’snotlikehe’dneverspeaktoyouagainorsomethin’...I’mgonnawakehimup,Jem,IswearIam—"

           Jemgrabbedmypajamacollarandwrenchedittight."ThenI’mgoin’withyou—"Ichoked.

           "Noyouain’t,you’lljustmakenoise."

           Itwasnouse.Iunlatchedthebackdoorandhelditwhilehecreptdownthesteps.Itmusthavebeentwoo’clock.Themoonwassettingandthelattice-workshadowswerefadingintofuzzynothingness.Jem’swhiteshirt-taildippedandbobbedlikeasmallghostdancingawaytoescapethecomingmorning.Afaintbreezestirredandcooledthesweatrunningdownmysides.

           Hewentthebackway,throughDeer’sPasture,acrosstheschoolyardandaroundtothefence,Ithought—atleastthatwasthewayhewasheaded.Itwouldtakelonger,soitwasnottimetoworryyet.IwaiteduntilitwastimetoworryandlistenedforMr.Radley’sshotgun.ThenIthoughtIheardthebackfencesqueak.Itwaswishfulthinking.

           ThenIheardAtticuscough.Iheldmybreath.Sometimeswhenwemadeamidnightpilgrimagetothebathroomwewouldfindhimreading.Hesaidheoftenwokeupduringthenight,checkedonus,andreadhimselfbacktosleep.Iwaitedforhislighttogoon,strainingmyeyestoseeitfloodthehall.Itstayedoff,andIbreathedagain.