He did not strike, he did not know what he was doing.

His only idea was to batter the life out of the man before him, to crush and annihilate him upon the instant.

Gripping his enemy in his enormous hands, hard and knotted, and covered with a stiff fell of yellow hair--the hands of the old-time car-boy--he swung him wide, as a hammer-thrower swings his hammer.
Marcus's feet flipped from the ground, he spun through the air about McTeague as helpless as a bundle of clothes.

All at once there was a sharp snap, almost like the report of a small pistol.

Then Marcus rolled over and over upon the ground as McTeague released his grip; his arm, the one the dentist had seized, bending suddenly, as though a third joint had formed between wrist and elbow.