The old courthouse clock suffered its preliminary strain and struck the hour, eight deafening bongs that shook our bones. - to.kill.a.mockingbird

to.kill.a.mockingbird

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‘Now don’t you be so confident, Mr Jem, I ain’t never seen any jury decide in favour of a coloured man over a white man…’
when the mockingbirds were still
rape
What happened after that had a dreamlike quality
it was like watching Atticus walk into the street, raise a rifle to his shoulder and pull the trigger, but watching all the time knowing the gin was empty.
The old courthouse clock suffered its preliminary strain and struck the hour, eight deafening bongs that shook our bones.
I expected Mr Tate to say any minute, 'Take him, Mr Finch...'
‘Guilty... guilty... guilty... guilty...’
Gavel
‘Miss Jean Louise, stand up. Your father’s passin’.’
shut as tight as the doors of the Radley Place

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Photo used under Creative Commons from Mr. T in DC