A Menina que Brincava com Fogo - Millennium 2 by Stieg Larsson

By Stieg Larsson

Lisbeth Salander é acusada de triplo assassinato, e a polícia está em seu encalço. A jovem hacker é esquiva, egoísta e pode ser muito violenta quando provocada. Mikael Blomkvist, editor-chefe da revista Millennium, sabe muito bem disso. Mas, ao contrário do restante da imprensa, que não se acanha em crucificá-la, ele acredita na inicência da moça. Para ele, os homicídios relacionam-se a uma série de reportagens que a Millennium pretendia publicar sobre o tráfico de mulheres provenientes do Leste Europeu. Um esquema de corrupção cujos tentáculos alcançam promotores, juízes, policiais e jornalistas. Lisbeth livrou Mikael da morte dois anos antes. Agora ele tem como retribuir.

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Extra resources for A Menina que Brincava com Fogo - Millennium 2

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What are the risks of individualism in a determinedly individualistic, yet racially uniform and socially static, community? Female freedom always means sexual freedom, even when—especially when—it is seen through the prism of economic freedom. The sexual freedom of Hannah Peach was my entrance into the story, constructed from shreds of memory about the way local women regarded a certain kind of female—envy coupled with amused approbation. Against her fairly modest claims to personal liberty are placed conventional and anarchic ones: Eva’s physical sacrifice for economic freedom; Nel’s accommodation to the protection marriage promises; Sula’s resistance to either sacrifice or accommodation.

She stared at the hem, wanting to believe in its weight but knowing that custard was all that it hid. If this tall, proud woman, this woman who was very particular about her friends, who slipped into church with unequaled elegance, who could quell a roustabout with a look, if she were really custard, then there was a chance that Nel was too. It was on that train, shuffling toward Cincinnati, that she resolved to be on guard—always. She wanted to make certain that no man ever looked at her that way.

Shadrack rose and returned to the cot, where he fell into the first sleep of his new life. A sleep deeper than the hospital drugs; deeper than the pits of plums, steadier than the condor’s wing; more tranquil than the curve of eggs. The sheriff looked through the bars at the young man with the matted hair. He had read through his prisoner’s papers and hailed a farmer. When Shadrack awoke, the sheriff handed him back his papers and escorted him to the back of a wagon. Shadrack got in and in less than three hours he was back in Medallion, for he had been only twenty-two miles from his window, his river, and his soft voices just outside the door.

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