FOREWORD Forever Fifteen was born of a dream I had in 2002, a dream that was part nightmare. The windows which were about nine feet from the floor, had no glass; but were secured by thick iron bars, and an oaken beam. He recognized the handwriting, and turned a shade paler. The music confused and distracted her, and made her struggle against a feeling of intoxication. Upstairs, in the little dressing-room, the panel was opened by means of tugging a small candlesconce in the wall. “It was perhaps my fault. The office is a sight—not one sheet of paper on another; bills and receipts everywhere. If you ask me, you’ll have to beat her regularly if you don’t want to live a dog’s life. The shape of the head, the height and breadth of the brow, the angle of the nose, the cut of the chin and jaws, all were fine, of a type she had never before looked upon closely.
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