Her voice had a carefree, I've-conquered-the-world lilt to it. The kind only kids her age are able to muster...
...
Then
All at once the sweetness evaporated, the lilt in her voice replaced by a cold, hard edge. She gave everyone the look now - that flat, deadly, animal stare she'd practiced for hours. He said her ability to do that was better than any weapon he owned, and he owned a lot of weapons...
She was the kind of woman men write sonnets about. Fight duels over....
*Kiss her goodbye, Robert Gregory Browne
