“I understand that you don’t want to discuss yourself with me, but someday you’re going to have to decide whether you trust me or not. I want us to be friends, but I can’t do it all by myself.”
Salander spent Christmas Eve at the ?ppelviken Nursing Home in Upplands-V?sby. She had brought presents: a bottle of eau de toilette by Dior and an English fruitcake from ?hléns department store. She drank coffee as she watched the forty-six-year-old woman who with clumsy fingers was trying to untie the knot on the ribbon. Salander had tenderness in her eyes, but that this strange woman was her mother never ceased to amaze her. She could recognise not the slightest resemblance in looks or nature.