Mr. Monsieur Valade heaved a gusty sigh, and Gerald, with heavy diplomacy and a forced heartiness of manner, turned the subject. ‘You’re speaking the truth. "Why do you laugh?" he asked. “No, that’s fine. "You've got him?" demanded Ireton. The thought of going back!—the thought of the unknown out there!—" with a tragic gesture toward the east. FOREWORD Forever Fifteen was born of a dream I had in 2002, a dream that was part nightmare. Rumors had it he had been a looker in his youth, all long hair and chiseled muscles, but those days were long gone. The blue jowl, the fat-lidded eyes—now merry, now alert, now tungsten hard—the bullet head, the pudgy fingers and the square-toed shoes were all in conformation with the doctor's olden mental picture.
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