FOREWORD Forever Fifteen was born of a dream I had in 2002, a dream that was part nightmare. “I’ll tell them how much you enjoyed dinner, it would give me great pleasure to tell them that. ‘At last,’ he cried, ‘I have found you!’ He would listen to nothing. Here was the same Ruth who had left him a few minutes since: the same outwardly; and yet…! On the ninth day Spurlock was up and about; that is, he was strong enough to walk alone, from the companion to his chair, to lean upon the rail when the chair grew irksome, to join Ruth and his employer at lunch and dinner: strong enough to argue about books, music, paintings. “We may just as well have our talk afterwards,” she said, “and I need not keep poor Mr. Will you?” She thought, and it seemed to him she had never looked so self-disciplined and deliberate and beautiful. We can’t. "Here's one of the thieves, Sir Rowland!" cried the attendant. For some time he could not stir, but felt sick and exhausted. But you,” he continued, moving imperceptibility a little nearer to her, “you are mine. I do not intend to allow you to forget.
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