To Kill A Mockingbird (Chapter 6)

At first we saw nothing but a kudzu-covered front porch, but a closer inspection revealed an arc of water descending from the leaves and splashing in the yellow circle of the street light, some ten feet from source to earth, it seemed to us.

Jem said Mr. Avery misfigured, Dill said he must drink a gallon a day, and the ensuing contest to determine relative distances and respective prowess only made me feel left out again, as I was untalented in this area.

Jem said Mr. Avery misfigured, Dill said he must drink a gallon a day, and the ensuing contest to determine relative distances and respective prowess only made me feel left out again, as I was untalented in this area.

Jem was not one to dwell on past defeats: it seemed the only message he got from Atticus was insight into the art of cross examination.

Jem was not one to dwell on past defeats: it seemed the only message he got from Atticus was insight into the art of cross examination.

The back of the Radley house was less inviting than the front: a ramshackle porch ran the width of the house; there were two doors and two dark windows between the doors.

That we would be obliged to dodge the unseen from all directions was confirmed when Dill ahead of us spelled G-o-d in a whisper.

He put his arms over his head and went rigid.

In the glare from the streetlight, I could see Dill hatching one: his eyes widened, his fat cherub face grew rounder.

"Ah- I won 'em from him," he said vaguely.

Boo Radley's insane fingers picking the wire to pieces; the chinaberry trees were malignant, hovering, alive.

Sometimes I did not understand him, but my periods of bewilderment were short-lived.

Sometimes when we made a midnight pilgrimage to the bathroom we would find him reading.

The night-crawlers had retired, but ripe chinaberries drummed on the roof when the wind stirred, and the darkness was desolate with the barking of distant dogs.