It's a good question. For a split second, it seems like it might check her.

"You might try not shutting yourself away while I cram my entire foot into my mouth, for starters. Or say it, when you've been harmed. Or just—We're not any of us breakable things, Mister Ellis. I think we are all capable of weathering being a little sharp with one another when the circumstances warrant it. Or do you really think my opinion is that flexible?"

From the edge of the planter box, and under snug fit of her felted hat, she has puffed up considerably. An uncharitable parallel might be drawn between her and the rustled feathers of a small flock's worth of chickens, or an especially harried small dog who believes it her task to wrangle them.