‘Still—here? Wasting your—time. “Oh, you know,” she said. Almost at once she had comprehended that she was expected to write down her name and address, which she did, in slanting cobwebby lettering, perhaps a trifle laboriously. 1. ‘I left a message at home that he should do so as soon as he returned from Kent. But of what avail is this? You have no execution, no finish. “It—it—must come,” she faltered. She turned into the study, sat down at the table and fingered the pencils, curiously stirred. But I won't be cheated of my prize. “Let go!” she gasped at him, a blaze of anger. FOREWORD Forever Fifteen was born of a dream I had in 2002, a dream that was part nightmare.
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