Crime Stories Are, As You Know, One

Always Retain The Ability To Walk Away, Without Sentimentality, From A Situation That Felt Unmanageable. That Was A Basic Rule Of Survival. Don't Lift A Finger For A Lost Cause.

In The Evening He Went To The Cinema To See "the Lord Of The Rings", Which He Had Never Before Had Time To See. He Thought That Orcs, Unlike Human Beings, Were Simple And Uncomplicated Creatures.

She Had Been Sharing A House With Him For A Week, And He Had Not Once Flirted With Her. He Had Worked With Her, Asked Her Opinion, Slapped Her On The Knuckles Figuratively Speaking When She Was On The Wrong Track, And Acknowledged That She Was Right When She Corrected Him. Dammit, He Had Treated Her Like A Human Being.

Her Voice Was As Rough As Sandpaper. As Long As Blomkvist Lived, He Would Never Forget Her Face As She Went On The Attack. Her Teeth Were Bared Like A Beast Of Prey. Her Eyes Were Glittering, Black As Coal. She Moved With The Lightning Speed Of A Tarantula And Seemed Totally Focus On Her Prey As She Swung The Club Again, Striking Martin In The Ribs.

She Wondered What She Thought Of Herself, And Came To The Realization That She Felt Mostly Indifference Towards Her Entire Life.