Karen Memory (Karen Memery #1)

And then I had my greatest stroke of genius since that ham sandwich with pickles that time.

A woman in the West? You show me one who doesn’t drink, and I’ll show you one that wants to.

Bill blinked tears from his eyes, then fastened his gaze on me. “Bitch,” he snarled—why they never think of anything cleverer I’ll never know.

Butter wouldn't have melted my smile, I swear.

But wasn’t that part of a whore’s job? Being the sort of ear that lonely men could turn to?

I wondered who lonely women paid to listen. As with so much, it seemed as if the world had a solution for the one but not the other.

Eavesdropping's a sin, but ignorance is fatal. Take your pick.

Girls in my profession know a little too much about men. The ones who want to know a woman as a person are fewer than you’d hope, and most of those don’t even realize it about themselves. They don’t care who a woman is, or what she’s scared of, or who she wants to become. They think they want a woman, but what they really want is a flattering looking glass wearing lipstick and telling them what they want to hear.

I don't know if it was the excitement that did it, but by the time we started our tiptoe across the icy, rutted skid yard to that shed Priya had quit shivering, but I was trembling like a marriage license in a young man's hand.

I liked her scowl and I liked her freedom to wear it.

It’s comforting when God lets you get away with something once in a while.

And a little unnerving. You start to wonder what he’s got set up for you next and why he’s softening you up, like.

Marshal Reeves, watching me, snorted. “Live and learn, child,” he said. “Everybody’s worthy of respect.

On récolte ce que l’on sème. That

Some call it the Cherry Hotel. But most just say it’s Madame Damnable’s Sewing Circle and have done. So I guess that makes me a seamstress, just like Beatrice and Miss Francina and Pollywog and Effie and all the other girls. I

Some things are just universal.
Like the known scientific fact that the colder and wetter you are, the better bacon smells frying.

Some would say a whore don't have no expectation of Heaven. I'd say, if she gives value for cash, she's got a better shot at God's blessing than your average banker. Jesus loved Mary Magdalene. He kicked over tables when He met a moneylender.

Some would say a whore don’t have no expectation of Heaven. I’d say, if she gives value for cash, she’s got a better shot at God’s blessing than your average banker. Jesus loved Mary Magdalene. He kicked over tables when He met a moneylender.

So why a woman did the same should be judged different … well, women always is. Judged different, I mean.

The Devil can quote scripture, after all. And monsters can say "please" and "thank you" same as any mother's son.

Them as work hardest get no respect for it – women, ranch hands, sharecroppers, factory help, domestics – and them as spend all their time talking about how hard they work have no idea what an honest day’s labor for nary enough pay to put beans in your family’s bellies is all about.

The way I saw it, nobody thought the worse of a man who followed his pecker anywhere it sniffed, like a droopy-faced hound dog led on by his nose. So why a woman did the same should be judged different… well, women always is.

Women have more of that patience, as a class. That ain’t because we’re born with it, though. It’s because we’re schooled to it and taught early that if we don’t have it we won’t never win.

You ain't gonna like what I have to tell you, but I'm gonna tell you anyway.