He sat with his head down, and I never saw anybody glare at anyone with the hatred Mayella showed
when she left the stand and walked by Atticus’s table.
When Mr. Gilmer told Judge Taylor that the state rested, Judge Taylor said, “It’s time we all did. We’ll take ten minutes.”
Atticus and Mr. Gilmer met in front of the bench and whispered, then they left the courtroom by a door behind the witness stand,
which was a signal for us all to stretch. I discovered that I had been sitting on the edge of the long bench, and I was somewhat numb.
Jem got up and yawned, Dill did likewise, and Reverend Sykes wiped his face on his hat. The temperature was an easy ninety, he said.
Mr. Braxton Underwood, who had been sitting quietly in a chair reserved for the Press, soaking up testimony with his sponge of a brain,
allowed his bitter eyes to rove over the colored balcony, and they met mine. He gave a snort and looked away.
“Jem,” I said, “Mr. Underwood’s seen us.” “That’s okay. He won’t tell Atticus, he’ll just put it on the social side of the Tribune.”
Jem turned back to Dill, explaining, I suppose, the finer points of the trial to him, but I wondered what they were.
There had been no lengthy debates between Atticus and Mr. Gilmer on any points; Mr. Gilmer seemed to be prosecuting almost reluctantly;
witnesses had been led by the nose as asses are, with few objections.
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