she still took a lively and cordial interest in Jem’s and my affairs. She must have seen my perplexity.
She said, “Only thing I worried about last night was all the danger and commotion it caused. This whole neighborhood could have gone up.”
“Mr. Avery’ll be in bed for a week—he’s right stove up. He’s too old to do things like that and I told him so.”
Soon as I can get my hands clean and when Stephanie Crawford’s not looking, I’ll make him a Lane cake.
That Stephanie’s been after my recipe for thirty years, and if she thinks I’ll give it to her,
just because I’m staying with her she’s got another think coming.
I reflected that if Miss Maudie broke down and gave it to her, Miss Stephanie couldn’t follow it anyway.
Miss Maudie had once let me see it: among other things, the recipe called for one large cup of sugar.
It was a still day. The air was so cold and clear we heard the courthouse clock clank, rattle and strain before it struck the hour.
Miss Maudie’s nose was a color I had never seen before, and I inquired about it.
“I’ve been out here since six o’clock,” she said. “Should be frozen by now.” She held up her hands.
A network of tiny lines crisscrossed her palms, brown with dirt and dried blood.
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