Your dad never wanted to see you with rough hands.
Why, he was up now, being held on his feet by rough hands.
The old man sat in silence for a moment, looking down at his rough hands.
She felt rough hands and cold air on her flesh.
His strong, rough hands would make quick work of the task.
My hands, rough as they were, knew their job, and I eased her son out into the world.
He held out his huge hands, rough and swollen with the years of work.
Suddenly she was grabbed from behind by a large rough hand.
Rough hands shook her to see if she was still alive.
A large, rough hand shoved him hard against the back of his chair.
