‘One of your countrymen, perhaps?’ The girl clammed up, the moon of her white face staring up at him in the darkness. That’s why he was so annoyed, you know. All the rest of his existence was subordinate to this pursuit; he lived for it, worked for it, kept himself in training for it. The music took hold of her slowly as her eyes wandered from the indistinct still ranks of the audience to the little busy orchestra with its quivering violins, its methodical movements of brown and silver instruments, its brightly lit scores and shaded lights. Taking the direction pointed out, he rode off. I must go perhaps in all the rooms. On coming to himself, he found he had been wrapped in a blanket and put to bed with a couple of hot bricks to his feet. FOREWORD Forever Fifteen was born of a dream I had in 2002, a dream that was part nightmare.
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