The militiaman at once thrust the old man between the shoulder blades, pushing him into the kitchen. The man’s as obstinate as a mule. Montague Hill was taken for the millionaire once or twice, and I suppose it flattered his vanity. But the free arm of the stranger hit him a flail-like blow on the chest and sent him sprawling into the yielding sand. An action which gave Gerald furiously to think. And, while the turnkey was busy with the keys, she whispered to the black, "Follow him, Caliban. Wood!—no," replied the turnkey. But in a moment she believed she understood.
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