I'd like to think of them sitting up in bed praying God--the God of 'good' folks--to please make it stop.

I'd like to have it haunt them--dog them--finally pierce their brains or souls or whatever it is they have, and begin to burrow.

I'd like to have it right there on the job every time they mentioned the goodness of God or the justice of man, till finally they threw up their hands in crazed despair with, 'For God's sake, what do you want _me_ to do about it!'" He had scarcely raised his voice.

He was smiling at her.

It was the smile led her to gasp: "Why I believe you hate us!" "Why I really believe I do," he replied quietly, still smiling.
Suddenly she flared.