‘Mr Finch?’ A soft husky voice came from the darkness above: ‘They gone?’ Atticus stepped back and looked up. ‘They’ve gone,’ he said. ‘Get some sleep, Tom. They won’t bother you any more.’ From a different direction, another voice cut crisply through the night: ‘You’re damn tootin’ they won’t. Had you covered all the time, Atticus.’ Mr Underwood and a double-barrelled shotgun were leaning out his window above the Maycomb Tribune office.
