She hardly ever raised her voice to a shout. She could be louder, harsher, her tone could take on an acidity that burned the flesh, but she hardly shouted. In her angriest moments, she was cool and bitter. She never let her voice take on an awful screeching quality, perhaps once or twice in desperation, but otherwise never.
She was pensive. Almost broody. She had dark eyes that inspired brooding, that led one to believe she could peer into your soul. She thought far too often and far too long about some things: she resisted impulse as well as she could. But sometimes she caved.
She wasn't a saint, but she was close enough. She was sensible and politically correct in every way. She tried to accept views from all sides of the spectrum. She was liberal in everything, including understanding. Her sense of morality was heightened, sometimes to the point where she occasionally held herself morally superior to everyone else.
She had her flaws, too, and though to many it appeared she had few, to those closest to her, she had a fair number. Although generous, she could be vain. She was abrasive, over-analytical, and defensive. She may have been sensible and given many things much thought, but she was temperamental and easily provoked. She handled professional rejection exceptionally well but personal rejection and hurt without any grace. And, perhaps her greatest flaw, she was vulnerable. Not gullible; she was anything but gullible. But she was vulnerable; she was young and unexperienced. And though she had internally established a solid line between right and wrong, it blurred when dealing with matters of the heart.
She wasn't a saint, but she was close enough.