What better way to spend a sportless, dark and gloomy Good Friday than being rendered immobile by a damned good read?
I reckon it's only something like one in every ten books I read that grabs me by the throat and won't let me go until I finish. They may not always be the best literature in the world, and some of them I've forgotten almost as soon as I close the book, but the pleasure of the moment remains.
So, thanks Stieg Larsson for the second of his trilogy, which had a disappointing ending but kept me turning the pages all day until I got there!
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