I guess you won't last here more 'n a twelvemonth." He pulled his soft and discolored old hat down over his brows with a significantly hostile nod, and, turning, stumped toward the hall-door without offering to shake hands.
The other trustees had risen likewise, in tacit recognition that the meeting was over.

Winch clasped the minister's hand in his own broad, hard palm, and squeezed it in an exuberant grip.

"Don't mind his little ways, Brother Ware," he urged in a loud, unctuous whisper, with a grinning backward nod: "he's a trifle skittish sometimes when you don't give him free rein; but he's all wool an' a yard wide when it comes to right-down hard-pan religion.

My love to Sister Ware;" and he followed the senior trustee into the hall.
Mr.Gorringe had been tying up his books and papers.

He came now with the bulky parcel under his arm, and his hat and stick in the other hand.
He could give little but his thumb to Theron to shake.