FOREWORD Forever Fifteen was born of a dream I had in 2002, a dream that was part nightmare. “I’m sorry! Mary! Are you hurt?” “No. "But be prudent, my angel. Then as she lay very still, with her hands clinched and her black hair tumbled about her face, he came still closer and softly kissed the nape of her neck. So far she had the utmost difficulty in getting on to that vitally important matter. Abruptly the sterner look vanished and she twinkled. A young lad—Roding took him for a footman, or a groom by the neat black garb—was halted some paces away from Valade, his hat in his hand as he made pretence of fanning himself. The horns were the worst, slipping in and out of tune and rushing the easy sections, fighting everyone else. She traced him by his scent. Of course, why not? She would be honest, anyhow! She turned her eyes to Manning. The hour for which, presumably, she had been created was drawing nigh. " "Thought so.
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