"You can't? She's convinced herself she's immortal and so she is." He stares, because what. "William, surely you know that everything that exists imagined itself into existence." Even her eyes are in on it. She puts down her magazine to explain further, fluffing herself up and getting into the role.
"Think about it. You're a wild young girl who's married to some jerk who treats you like property, and is also fucking some 14-year-old boy..." -- cue Bill wriggling nervously while she applies her makeup -- "And along comes this religion which encourages you to get hammered, run naked through the woods, have sex with whoever? Whatever? And it's all part of getting closer to God?" *
Bill admits he could see the appeal, especially -- he adds, knowing his audience -- to humans, with their tendency towards Puritanism. Because Bill is so totally down on that, just like Sophie-Anne.
*(Fill in the blanks however you want, but you're looking at Sarah Newlin, and Maxine, and Jessica's dad, and her mom too.)
"Exactly," she says, explaining the orgy escalation that seems so hard to understand for some people: "So you're fucking everybody in the dirt. Why not kill something, and eat it raw? Hey, you're super-extra-pious. There's nothing you can't do. And each time you do it just brings you one step closer to the 'divine.'" Bill asks if that isn't sort of delusional (slash self-serving, which welcome to religion), and she reminds him of the power of blind faith: "It can manifest in ways that bend the laws of physics or break them entirely." Waiting for him to gasp in wonderment, or ask his next question, or disappear completely, she's distracted by her nails. Once again you have underestimated the slowness of Bill Compton.
"...I bit her and it poisoned me," he says, after she's managed to give her own fingernails a triple-take. "Of course it did. We can only drink human blood, and she's no longer even remotely human." Which she was, a bajillion years ago: "Hello, evolution? We started out that way too." Duh, you still are, thanks for playing. He nods and she checks her watch. "Less than two hours till dawn," she says, waiting for him to do or say anything remotely interesting. But it's Bill, so she changes tack again for the fifth time in the conversation, playing the libertine: "Shall we have sex?" She shoots for worldly coquette and ends up at galumphing Lolita yet again. He stares, because he is Bill, and her real face shines through: "Kidding? I haven't enjoyed sex with men since the Eisenhower administration."