There was a light bulb on the end. “I’m going out for a while,” he said.
“You folks’ll be in bed when I come back, so I’ll say good night now.”
With that, he put his hat on and went out the back door. “He’s taking the car,” said Jem.
Our father had a few peculiarities: one was, he never ate desserts; another was that he liked to walk.
As far back as I could remember, there was always a Chevrolet in excellent condition in the carhouse,
and Atticus put many miles on it in business trips,
but in Maycomb he walked to and from his office four times a day, covering about two miles.
He said his only exercise was walking. In Maycomb, if one went for a walk with no definite purpose in mind,
it was correct to believe one’s mind incapable of definite purpose.
Later on, I bade my aunt and brother good night and was well into a book when I heard Jem rattling around in his room.
His go-to-bed noises were so familiar to me that I knocked on his door: “Why ain’t you going to bed?”
“I’m going downtown for a while.” He was changing his pants.
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