Mrs Dubose lived alone in constant attendance,
She was very old,
and spent most of each day in bed,
We hated her,
We would be raked by her wrathful gaze,
And given a melancholy prediction on what we would be when we grow up
Jem and I walked back home,
he had just bought a baton for me,
We passed by Dubose’s house,
She screamed at us,
and called Atticus a nigger lover.
Jem was so angry, he whacked her flowers with my baton,
Atticus made Jem apologise,
he had to read to her for a month,
He was furious
Her house was filled with odour
an odour similar to rain-rotted grey houses
It makes jem afraid, expectant and watchful.
Her face was that of a dirty pillow-case
The corners of her mouth glistened with drool
which inched like a glacier down her chin
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