– Я, видишь ли, думаю, что все равно на свете ничего хорошего нет, – продолжала она убежденно. – И все так думают – даже самые умные, самые передовые люди. А я не только думаю, я знаю. Ведь я везде побывала, все видела, все попробовала. – Она вызывающе сверкнула глазами, совсем как Том, и рассмеялась звенящим, презрительным смехом. – Многоопытная и разочарованная, вот я какая.
With this answer Elizabeth was forced to be content; but her own opinion continued the same, and she left disappointed and sorry. It was not in her nature, however, to increase her vexations by dwelling on them. She was confident of having performed her duty, and to fret over unavoidable evils, or augment them by anxiety, was no part of her disposition.
Ladies seemed to live in faint horror of men, seemed unwilling to approve wholeheartedly of them. But I liked them. There was something about them, no matter how much they cussed and drank and gambled and chewed; no matter how undelectable they were, there was something about them that I instinctively liked
This is the last straw, Atticus, Aunt Alexandra said. Depends on how you look at it, he said. What was one Negro, more or less, among two hundred of ’em? He wasn’t Tom to them, he was an escaping prisoner. Atticus leaned against the refrigerator, pushed up his glasses, and rubbed his eyes. We had such a good chance, he said. I told him what I thought, but I couldn’t in truth say that we had more than a good chance. I guess Tom was tired of white men’s chances and preferred to take his own.