FOREWORD Forever Fifteen was born of a dream I had in 2002, a dream that was part nightmare. If the boy had done anything wrong back there in the States, his would be the brand of conscience to pay him out in full. “Can’t you SEE how things are?” she said. Do help me, Lady Ferringhall. The poor old imbecile! Why, this child was a firebrand, a wrecker, if ever he had seen one; and the worst kind because she was unconscious of her gifts. “I don’t see there’s any getting away from the fact that you and I love each other,” he said, slowly. He could neither stifle nor deaden that. ‘I understand you have not been in England very long,’ he said in English, noting that Madame raised her fan and lowered her gaze demurely.
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