Some one gave him a shove and he staggered forward a step, snapping out a curse.
Before he could recover himself the shove was repeated.
"Lope on out of here!" yelled the tall fellow, who had first challenged his right to remain in Pleasantville or its environs.

As the crowd fell apart to make way for him, willing hands were extended to give him the needed impetus, and without special volition of his own.
Mahaffy was hurried toward the road.

His hat was knocked flat on his head--he turned with an angry snarl, the very embodiment of hate--but again he was thrust forward.

And then, somehow, his walk became a run and the crowd started after him with delighted whoopings.

Once more, and for the last time, he faced about, giving the judge a hopeless, despairing glance.