It was disappointing, as if a wish she didn’t know she’d made hadn’t come true. - M. K. Hobson

Senator Stanton? The man who’s sold his own soul so many times that no one can figure out who actually owns it?

They say that they're a punishment on godly people for allowing sin to walk the earth unanswered—
"Who is this 'they' you're always referring to?" Stanton glared at Rose, his eyes gleaming with unhidden malice. "Your mongoloid Aunt Kindy? Your drunken Uncle Sal? Or are you talking about the slack-jawed hacks who bang out those dime novels for a bottle of whiskey and the price of a flophouse?"
Rose stared at him, her mouth open in astonishment. But Stanton pressed on, his voice flat and awful.
"Or maybe you're just using the word 'they' as so many pea-brained idiots use it, as a cowardly rhetorical device, an excuse to say the things you really believe without giving anyone the chance to judge you for the narrow-minded, stupid creature you are."

Before the sun went down again, she realized, she would be in New York. The thought sent a nervous thrill through her entire body. Her throat was tight, her heart suddenly racing.