“Good night, Mrs. MacDonagh.” She swayed a bit as she searched for the door handle. “Yer a good lad, Atticus, mowin’ me lawn and killin’ what Brits come around.” “Think nothing of it, please,” I said. “And it’s probably best if we kept this between us.” “O’course,” she said, finally finding the door and yanking it open. “G’night.”
