You Can Pet Him, Mr. Arthur. He's

Maycomb Was A Tired Old Town, Even In 1932 When I First Knew It. Somehow, It Was Hotter Then. Men's Stiff Collars Wilted By Nine In The Morning. Ladies Bathed Before Noon After Their Three O'clock Naps, And By Nightfall Were Like Soft Teacakes With Frosting From Sweating And Sweet Talcum. The Day Was Twenty-four Hours Long, But It Seemed Longer. There's No Hurry, For There's Nowhere To Go And Nothing To Buy... And No Money To Buy It With.

See There?" Jem Was Scowling Triumphantly. "nothin' To It. I Swear, Scout, Sometimes You Act So Much Like A Girl Its Mortifyin

Mr. Avery Said It Was Written On The Rosetta Stone That When Children Disobeyed Their Parents, Smoked Cigarettes And Made War On Each Other, The Seasons Would Change: Jem And I Were Burdened With The Guilt Of Contributing To The Aberrations Of Nature, Thereby Causing Unhappiness To Our Neighbors And Discomfort To Ourselves.

I Didn't Expect The Book To Sell In The First Place. I Was Hoping For A Quick And Merciful Death At The Hands Of Reviewers But At The Same Time I Sort Of Hoped That Maybe Someone Would Like It Enough To Give Me Encouragement. Public Encouragement. I Hoped For A Little, As I Said, But I Got Rather A Whole Lot, And In Some Ways This Was Just About As Frightening As The Quick, Merciful Death I'd Expected.

I Try To Give'em A Reason, You See. It Helps Folks If They Can Latch Onto A Reason.