When I pointed to him his palms slipped slightly, leaving greasy sweat streaks on the wall, and he hooked his thumbs in his belt. A strange spasm shook him, as if he heard fingernails scrape slate, but as I gazed at him in wonder the tension slowly drained from his face. His lips parted into a timid smile, and our neighbor’s image blurred with my sudden tears. “Hey, Boo,” I said. “Mr. Arthur, honey,” said Atticus, gently correcting me. “Jean Louise, this is Mr. Arthur Radley. I believe he already knows you.

He turned out the light and went into Jem's room. He would be there all night, and he would be there when Jem waked up in the morning.

That boy is your company. And if he wants to eat up that tablecloth, you let him, you hear?

I don't want to hear any words like that while I'm here. Scout, you'll get in trouble if you go around saying things like that. You want to grow up to be a lady, don't you?' I said not particularly.

Best way to clear the air is to have it all out in the open.

They've done it before and they'll do it again and when they do it -- seems that only the children weep. Good night.

She was born in the Objective case.