Harley-davidson," She Said. "sweet.

But She Wished She Had Had The Guts To Go Up To Him And Say Hello. Or Possibly Break His Legs, She Wasn't Sure Which.

No Matter How Hard She Tried To Concentrate On Something Else, To Pass The Time And To Distract Her From The Situation She Was In, The Fear Came Trickling Out. It Hovered Like A Cloud Of Gas Around Her, Threatening To Penetrate Her Pores And Poison Her.

Men Who Just Call To Say Hello Generally Have Ulterior Motives.

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.

As A Girl, She Was A Legal Prey, Especially If She Was Dressed In A Worn Black Leather Jacket And Had Pierced Eyebrows, Tattoos, And Zero Social Status.