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There's somethin' wrong with an old dog down yonder.
Are you telling me a story Finch?
I swear to God there's a mad dog down the street a piece-he's comin' this way,yes sir,he's-Mr.Finch, I declare he is-old Tim Johnson, yes sir...yessir...yes-.
Calpurnia's message had been received by the neighborhood. Every wood door within our range of vision was closed.
Mr.Tate handed the rifle to Atticus; Jem and I nearly fainted
I haven't shot a gun in thirty years-.
Doors opened one by one, and the neighborhood slowly cam alive.
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