But there was no time for a third shot.
It seemed brutal to Frank, but she allowed herself time for neither thought nor scruples.

All she remembered was that it was necessary--though once again she asked herself if all her life, from that day on, was to be made up of brawling and fighting.
For Durkin had brought down on the half-turned head the up-poised bedroom chair with all his force.

Pobloff, with a little inarticulate cry that was almost a grunt, buckled and pitched forward.
"That settles _you_!" the stooping man said, heartlessly, as he watched him relax and half roll on his side.
Frank watched him, too, but with no sense of triumph or success, with no emotion but slowly awakening disgust, against which she found it useless to struggle.

She watched him with a sense of detachment and aloofness, as if looking down on him from a great height, while he tore upon the manila envelope and gave vent to a little cry of satisfaction.
They at last possessed the Penfield securities.

Then she went over and replenished the waning flame in the alcohol lamp.
"We've got to get away from here now," said Durkin quickly.