FOREWORD Forever Fifteen was born of a dream I had in 2002, a dream that was part nightmare. Expiation. Where Saint Giles' church stands, once a lazar-house stood; And, chain'd to its gates, was a vessel of wood; A broad-bottom'd bowl, from which all the fine fellows, Who pass'd by that spot, on their way to the gallows, Might tipple strong beer, Their spirits to cheer, And drown in a sea of good liquor all fear! For nothing the transit to Tyburn beguiles So well as a draught from the Bowl of Saint Giles! II. She knew she was pregnant when she missed her period in the first weeks of August that year. He got out in much the same way from the Gatehouse,—stole the keys, and passed through a room where I was sitting half-asleep in a chair. Only first you must find the lantern and light it again and leave it here, near the door, for me to find. She sighed with relief. "Sorry you're obliged to keep your word. This structure at once satisfied him as to where he stood. You see, my riddle is solved.
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