Jasper Greene shuffled to a window and pulled back the curtain, peered out, and saw a station wagon in his yard.
The driver was a stranger but one familiar with country ways. He sat in the car with the motor running, waiting, not coming up to pound on the door like some traveling salesman. The old man went back to his coffee and waited.
Now it seems to me, a village priest should be among the first to know what’s happening in his parish. That’s not the case here, though. Not here in this isolated Korean parish where I’ve been laboring for the past three years.
The buzz of the whiskey dwindled and, with it, Tim’s courage evaporated.
Shoulders hunched, he sipped at the coffee which had gone cold and wondered how he could get back the nerve to go through with his plan. He exhaled a breath foul with the remnants of alcohol, coffee and the food he’d forced himself to eat.
"I'm warning you," Snyder snarled, "keep that dog quiet–or I will."
Leaning in the doorway, head cocked to one side, arms folded across his chest, Elliott gave him one of those infuriating smiles. "Calm down," he said, "it's nothing to get so upset about."