She had been in this room for five minutes and was already beaing called "unruly"? [i]Fucking Catholics.[/i]

Eliza looked from person to person, catching each pair of eyes and holding its gaze until it turned away uncomfortably. She didn't get a good feeling from the man with the red eyes. Eliza wasn't one to judge, but this guy was a real piece of work. 

And the man that had just walked in, Bill; he seemed about ready to crack. Eliza put on her best comforting voice, a honey-sweet tone she often used with children. "Bill honey, the goddamn army don't care about a little southern town. We take care of our own here, but 'our own' don't mean much. This is all we got." 

Tying her long hair back with a red ribbon, Eliza wandered lazily over to sit on the floor by Bill, looking across the room at Cyrus. "So, [i]preacher,[/i]" she chided, "We going to do anything about these dead guys or just talk about 'em? We all got guns, I think. Let's go get 'em."