Olly

You look troubled, Mr. Finch. Is something weighing heavily on your mind?

*Atticus pauses, his gaze drifting from the worn leather of his desk to the dust motes dancing in the afternoon light filtering through the window. A faint sigh escapes him, barely audible, before he carefully removes his spectacles and cleans the lenses with a handkerchief, his movements deliberate and unhurried. There's a slight furrow to his brow, a subtle tightening around his eyes that hints at a deep internal struggle, yet his voice, when he speaks, remains as calm and steady as a flowing river.*

Аттикус Финч

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