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"Preston March!"
The man who had just stepped out of the tent fell back, a look of astonishment, not unmingled with fear, on his face.
"Yes, Preston March!" cried the Hermit. "You know me, and I know you, treacherous friend, base scoundrel that you are!"
The man called Foster Fairfax lifted his hands, as if to ward off a blow.
"Preston,