I Wonder How Much Of The Day

For The Life Of Me, I Did Not Understand How He[atticus] Could Sit There In Cold Blood And Read A Newspaper When His Only Son Stood An Excellent Chance Of Being Murdered With A Confederate Army Relic.

A Mob's Always Made Up Of People, No Matter What. Mr. Cunningham Was Part Of A Mob Last Night, But He Was Still A Man. Every Mob In Every Little Southern Town Is Always Made Up Of People You Know--doesn't Say Much For Them, Does It?

Things Are Always Better In The Morning.

Next Morning I Awoke, Looked Out The Window And Nearly Died Of Fright. My Screams Brought Atticus From His Bathroom Half-shaven. "the World's Endin', Atticus! Please Do Something -!" I Dragged Him To The Window And Pointed. "no It's Not," He Said. "it's Snowing.

It's Quite A Thing, If You've Never Been In Or Known A Small Southern Town. The People Are Not Particularly Sophisticated, Naturally. They're Not Worldly Wise In Any Way. But They Tell You A Story Whenever They See You.