Atticus took his coat off the back of his chair and pulled it over his shoulder.
Then he left the courtroom, but not by his usual exit.
He must have wanted to go home the short way, because he walked quickly down the middle aisle toward the south exit.
I followed the top of his head as he made his way to the door. He did not look up.
Someone was punching me, but I was reluctant to take my eyes from the people below us, and from the image of Atticus’s lonely walk down the aisle.
“Miss Jean Louise?” I looked around. They were standing.
All around us and in the balcony on the opposite wall, the Negroes were getting to their feet.
Reverend Sykes’s voice was as distant as Judge Taylor’s: “Miss Jean Louise, stand up. Your father’s passin’.”
Chapter 22
It was Jem’s turn to cry. His face was streaked with angry tears as we made our way through the cheerful crowd.
“It ain’t right,” he muttered, all the way to the corner of the square where we found Atticus waiting.
Atticus was standing under the street light looking as though nothing had happened:
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