Meanwhile...

in a quaint suburb of Rio de Janiero, a small, mop-headed British boy hopped off his bicycle and ran up the grassy hill to his father's luxurious mansion. The boy's name was Alfred and he was eight years old. Early in the morning, every morning, he would sneak out of his father's house and ride his bike to the golden beaches of the South Atlantic where he would skip stones just as the sun was rising over the endless waters before him. He had visited this shore many times in his life, and he had acquired, through this quiet time of peaceful rumination, a wisdom far beyond his years.

It was from this activity that he was speeding home in the meanwhile. (He was running up the grassy hill.) He reached the house, pulled open the large mahogany door and . . .