And now I was trying to brush my hair, you know, when I thought about it, and looking at myself in mirrors, wondering if I was pretty. Pretty! A year ago, when my haair got in my eyes I hacked it off with a knife. The only thing important about my clothes was whether they were to stiff to move fast in battle. And Fang had been my best friend and an excellent fighter.
James PattersonAbout author
- Author's profession: Author
- Nationality: american
- Born: March 22, 1947
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The past--the wild charge at the head of his men up San Juan Hill; the first years of his marriage when he worked late into the summer dusk down in the busy city for young Hildegarde whom he loved; the days before that when he sat smoking far into the night in the gloomy old Button house on Monroe Street with his grandfather-all these had faded like unsubstantial dreams from his mind as though they had never been. He did not remember.
F. Scott Fitzgerald
