You have all the instinctive dexterity of parasites. On this side was a razor with which a son had murdered his father; the blade notched, the haft crusted with blood: on that, a bar of iron, bent, and partly broken, with which a husband had beaten out his wife's brains. FOREWORD Forever Fifteen was born of a dream I had in 2002, a dream that was part nightmare. There was an air of repressed gaiety in her actions: the sense of freedom had returned; her heart was empty again. ‘Monsieur Charvill,’ pursued Valade, ‘has left the chateau, and since we have heard from him nothing at all, but for the letters to his daughter from Italy. He had not had time to aim the pistol. On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha.
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