She stares me dead in the eyes, not the bubbly lady or the cocky little thief but something else. Something made of flint and teeth. A tiger staring down a lion, waiting for the other to turn or attack. But she’s not a tiger. I could break her in two without even trying, yet she doesn’t back down or shy away. And that takes guts. Or a real high level of madness. Maybe both. But a feeling flushes through my chest—admiration. She’s worthy of some respect.
A woman? Worthy of SOME respect?!?
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