Perhaps because I don’t know. " So there was always plenty of mail. But once I started, Forever Fifteen seemed to fly out of me like a bat out of Hell, virtually writing itself. " Ruth had read from page to page in "The Child's Garden of Verse," generally unfamiliar to the admirers of Stevenson. From McClintock's came an infernal tinkletinkle, tump-tump! There was no composing with such a sound hammering upon the ear. Lucy grabbed his shirtsleeve, whispering on tiptoe. ” Chapter XIX “THIS IS NOT THE END” “I said some afternoon,” she remarked, throwing open her warm coat, and taking off her gloves, “but I certainly did not mean to-day.
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