I waited for Uncle Jack to break his promise. He still didn’t.
Atticus, how bad is this going to be? You haven’t had too much chance to discuss it.
It couldn’t be worse, Jack. The only thing we’ve got is a black man’s word against the Ewells’.
The evidence boils down to you-did—I-didn’t. The jury couldn’t possibly be expected to take Tom Robinson’s word against the Ewells’—
Are you acquainted with the Ewells?Uncle Jack said yes, he remembered them. He described them to Atticus,
but Atticus said, “You’re a generation off. The present ones are the same, though.”
What are you going to do, then?” “Before I’m through, I intend to jar the jury a bit—I think we’ll have a reasonable chance on appeal, though.”
I really can’t tell at this stage, Jack. You know, I’d hoped to get through life without a case of this kind,
but John Taylor pointed at me and said, ‘You’re It.’” “Let this cup pass from you, eh?”
“Right. But do you think I could face my children otherwise? You know what’s going to happen as well as I do, Jack,
and I hope and pray I can get Jem and Scout through it without bitterness, and most of all, without catching Maycomb’s usual disease.
Why reasonable people go stark raving mad when anything involving a Negro comes up, is something I don’t pretend to understand…
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