Andrew Johnson was thinking about Sophia Barlow again. Sophia was a charming do gooder with sticky eyes and ruddy feet.
Andrew walked over to the window and reflected on his wild surroundings. He had always loved quiet Madrid with its frightened, faffdorking fields. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel afraid.
Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the a charming figure of Sophia Barlow.