We looked down again. Atticus was speaking easily, with the kind of detachment he used when he dictated a letter.
He walked slowly up and down in front of the jury, and the jury seemed to be attentive:
their heads were up, and they followed Atticus’s route with what seemed to be appreciation.
I guess it was because Atticus wasn’t a thunderer. Atticus paused, then he did something he didn’t ordinarily do.
He unhitched his watch and chain and placed them on the table, saying, “With the court’s permission—”
Judge Taylor nodded, and then Atticus did something I never saw him do before or since, in public or in private:
he unbuttoned his vest, unbuttoned his collar, loosened his tie, and took off his coat.
He never loosened a scrap of his clothing until he undressed at bedtime,
and to Jem and me, this was the equivalent of him standing before us stark naked. We exchanged horrified glances.
Atticus put his hands in his pockets, and as he returned to the jury, I saw his gold collar button
and the tips of his pen and pencil winking in the light. “Gentlemen,” he said.
Jem and I again looked at each other: Atticus might have said, “Scout.”
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