Its arm came out from its side, dropped, and was still.
Then it turned and moved back across Jem, walked along the porch and off the side of the house, returning as it had come.
Jem leaped off the porch and galloped toward us. He flung open the gate, danced Dill and me through,
and shooed us between two rows of swishing collards.
Halfway through the collards I tripped; as I tripped the roar of a shotgun shattered the neighborhood.
Dill and Jem dived beside me. Jem’s breath came in sobs: “Fence by the schoolyard!—hurry, Scout!”
Jem held the bottom wire; Dill and I rolled through and were halfway
to the shelter of the schoolyard’s solitary oak when we sensed that Jem was not with us.
We ran back and found him struggling in the fence, kicking his pants off to get loose.
He ran to the oak tree in his shorts. Safely behind it, we gave way to numbness,
but Jem’s mind was racing: “We gotta get home, they’ll miss us.”
We ran across the schoolyard, crawled under the fence to Deer’s Pasture behind our house,
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