"I never had a pet. Hurled over the sides of the skiff, the ruffian speedily found a watery grave. FOREWORD Forever Fifteen was born of a dream I had in 2002, a dream that was part nightmare. ‘No sense in snooping about down here,’ Gerald whispered. “I’ll go,” she vowed to the night, “or I’ll die!” She made plans and estimated means and resources. It was not a long prayer. ‘Dieu du ciel, is this a way to have me say yes? If it is that you do not wish to, why do you ask me?’ ‘Ah. It hadn’t even been called Kentucky back then when the Shawnee still hunted deer over mossy hills and the smoke from their fires could still inspire terror. " Ruth had read from page to page in "The Child's Garden of Verse," generally unfamiliar to the admirers of Stevenson.
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