Next Morning I Awoke, Looked Out The

Maycomb Was A Tired Old Town, Even In 1932 When I First Knew It. Somehow, It Was Hotter Then. Men's Stiff Collars Wilted By Nine In The Morning. Ladies Bathed Before Noon After Their Three O'clock Naps, And By Nightfall Were Like Soft Teacakes With Frosting From Sweating And Sweet Talcum. The Day Was Twenty-four Hours Long, But It Seemed Longer. There's No Hurry, For There's Nowhere To Go And Nothing To Buy... And No Money To Buy It With.

When I Pointed To Him His Palms Slipped Slightly, Leaving Greasy Sweat Streaks On The Wall, And He Hooked His Thumbs In His Belt. A Strange Spasm Shook Him, As If He Heard Fingernails Scrape Slate, But As I Gazed At Him In Wonder The Tension Slowly Drained From His Face. His Lips Parted Into A Timid Smile, And Our Neighbor’s Image Blurred With My Sudden Tears. “hey, Boo,” I Said. “mr. Arthur, Honey,” Said Atticus, Gently Correcting Me. “jean Louise, This Is Mr. Arthur Radley. I Believe He Already Knows You.

There Are Some Men In This World Who Are Born To Do Our Unpleasant Jobs For Us. Your Father's One Of Them.

I Have Nothing But Gratitude For The People Who Made The Film. It Was A Most Unusual Experience. I'm No Judge, And The Only Film I've Ever Seen Made Was Mockingbird, But There Seemed To Be An Aura Of Good Feeling On The Set. I Went Out And Looked At Them Filming A Little Of It, And There Seemed To Be Such A General Kindness, Perhaps Even Respect, For The Material They Were Working With. I Was Delighted, Touched, Happy, And Exceedingly Grateful.

Boo Was Our Neighbor. He Gave Us Two Soap Dolls, A Broken Watch And Chain, A Pair Of Good-luck Pennies, And Our Lives.