"Can you get me a lodging?' inquired Gabriel.
'That I can't, indeed,' he said, moving past Oak as a Christian edges past an offertory-plate when he does not mean to contribute. 'If you follow on the road till you come to Warren's Malthouse, where they are all gone to have their snap of victuals, I daresay some of 'em will tell you of a place. Good-night to ye, shepherd.' The bailiff who showed this nervous dread of loving his neighbour as himself, went up the hill, and Oak walked on to the village..." (Far From the Madding Crowd by Thomas Hardy, Chpt. 5, page 56)