"Why not, why is it?"
"It's too late."
"We've got to stop them."
"It's too late. There's nothing we can do. Listen. Get me a gun. I want to—"
He loomed wild-eyed above her. She didn't understand what he intended to do: only that some impossible fury was driving him. "You've got to help me stop them. There must be some way."
"Get me a gun! Get me a gun!" Every atom of his being cried out to her: he had to have the gun. His thoughts were warped and twisted. With the gun everything would be clear in his mind. Everything would follow step by step. The gun could spout a great, purifying flame.
He was alone in the room. He looked down. She had dropped her purse, and it had spilled open. He walked to the gun that had fallen from it.
Norma ran, wild and terrified. To whom could she turn?
Frank! Where was he?