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Chapter 8
"Baby,getup."
Atticuswasholdingoutmybathrobeandcoat."Putyourrobeonfirst,"hesaid.
JemwasstandingbesideAtticus,groggyandtousled.Hewasholdinghisovercoatclosedattheneck,hisotherhandwasjammedintohispocket.Helookedstrangelyoverweight.
"Hurry,hon,"saidAtticus."Here’reyourshoesandsocks."
Stupidly,Iputthemon."Isitmorning?"
"No,it’salittleafterone.Hurrynow."
Thatsomethingwaswrongfinallygotthroughtome."What’sthematter?"
Bythenhedidnothavetotellme.Justasthebirdsknowwheretogowhenitrains,Iknewwhentherewastroubleinourstreet.Softtaffeta-likesoundsandmuffledscurryingsoundsfilledmewithhelplessdread.
"Whoseisit?"
"MissMaudie’s,hon,"saidAtticusgently.
Atthefrontdoor,wesawfirespewingfromMissMaudie’sdiningroomwindows.Asiftoconfirmwhatwesaw,thetownfiresirenwailedupthescaletoatreblepitchandremainedthere,screaming.
"It’sgone,ain’tit?"moanedJem.
"Iexpectso,"saidAtticus."Nowlisten,bothofyou.GodownandstandinfrontoftheRadleyPlace.Keepoutoftheway,doyouhear?Seewhichwaythewind’sblowing?"
