 Which is the best description of how Julia reacted to the narrator trying to take her bag?
Mine was no satisfaction, never earned me a penny—and now it had me fighting for my life in ... So I returned my attention to the inside of the plane, to the overstuffed gray-haired woman asleep beside me, to the backs of heads in seats before me, across the aisle to other heads, and down to the blonde. Now she had crossed her legs and I was privileged to view a trim ankle and calf, and her profile as she stared moodily across the aisle and out a window where there was nothing to see. Inventory completed, I went back to looking at the clouds, knowing I should be thinking about the printing order I was going to Los Angeles for, and not wanting to. It started when I was a kid, this business of being able to explore the insides of things like purses and sealed boxes and locked drawers and—well, human beings. I learned the wisdom of keeping my mouth shut in the fourth grade when Miss Winters, a stern, white-haired disciplinarian, ordered me to eat my sack lunch in the classroom with her instead of outside with some of the other kids. I didn't want her to think I had taken it while she was out of the room, so I probed the contents of her purse, which she always kept in the upper right drawer of her desk. This being earlier than I usually get up, it seems all I did during the night was feel my way past the escapement and balance wheel to see where the notch for the alarm was. I went through slips and slippers, lingerie and laundry, a jig saw puzzle and a ukulele. The bomb was in a small bag—a woman's bag judging by the soft, flimsy things you'd never find in a man's—and I didn't know it was a bomb right away. One went to a battery and the other to hard round cylinders taped together. Quickly I went up past the train of gears to the alarm wheel. It was forty minutes to Burbank and Lockheed Air Terminal. No, none of them would know it was there. We'd be leaving the valley for the mountain range north of Los Angeles soon, if we hadn't left it already. My seatmate had accepted hers and was tearing at the cellophane. I pushed and pulled and didn't dare release my hold until it came to a dead stop. When they unloaded the luggage, the balance wheel would start again. I'd be a man not to be trusted, a prying man, a man literally with gimlet eyes.
 She was surprised enough by the request that she wasn't quite sure how to react
 She was surprised enough by the request that she wasn't quite sure how to react  She was unsettled because a strange man had approached her trying to take her things  She was nervous because she thought the narrator had figured out her plan and the existence of the bomb  She was frustrated with him for further delaying her already postponed trip