” She thought of her father, and with an effort dismissed him from her mind. She had a horrible glimpse of the once nice little old lady being also borne stationward, still faintly battling and very muddy—one lock of grayish hair straggling over her neck, her face scared, white, but triumphant. I would not think so of you, Marthe. The veranda bamboo will be enough for me. She calls us her guests, but in reality we are her prisoners. FOREWORD Forever Fifteen was born of a dream I had in 2002, a dream that was part nightmare.
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