Sycamore Row - John Grisham

“Maybe you didn’t ask the right questions,” Harry Rex said as he took another swig of
Bud Light.
“Thank you so much, Harry Rex. For your own future reference, during the jury
selection process lawyers are not normally allowed to ask questions like, ‘Say, Mr.
Doley, is it true your distant cousin was gang-raped by a bunch of black thugs in
Memphis?’ and the reason for this prohibition is that the lawyers generally don’t know
about such horrible crimes.”
“I’m going home.” Another swig.
“Let’s all go home,” Portia said. “We’re not accomplishing much.”
It was almost 10:30 when they turned out the lights. Jake walked around the square
to clear his head. At the Sullivan firm, lights were still on. Wade Lanier and his team
were still in there, still working.