Aunt Cornelia, did you know it’s Hansie's birthday on the 15th? He isn’t expecting anybody except me to notice; we certainly aren’t expecting his mother to pay any attention, but if you would send him an email. . .
Subject: Re: Hansie
I have been searching the internet, and I have ordered Hansie a couple of cases of wine which should rock up with a birthday card by the 15th. And I will email him too. I enjoyed the pictures from Miss Milton which you sent last month, and your reports of your holiday. My compliments to Mr de Vries and his pretty partner, and be so kind as to assure him that his reputation here remains intact.
Yes, I think he would like that. I take your point about it not being tactful, but no, I think he’s relaxed enough now that a book of pictures of SA would be a gift he would enjoy, and not disturbing to him. We’re likely to be busy (!!) on the day itself, but give us a call over the weekend and come for a drink.
It took a bit of organising, but I didn’t begrudge it to him. I got the impression that nobody very much had taken note of Hansie's birthdays for rather a long time, and I thought that somebody ought to. And somebody is me, because Hansie is mine. Oh sure, possessive is unpleasant and we don’t like to go there, and I will share, on a social basis. I’m not jealous of his friendships, even when some of them are with people I don’t care for. He doesn’t like all my friends either. That’s just the way things are. And then of course there’s Piet and Phil, and when it comes to talking about them, all bets are off. They are. . . we are. . . look, there are two couples, Tim and Hansie, and Piet and Phil, and that’s the first thing. The essential couple-ness is the main thing. But occasionally there is also the quartet. But it’s two or four, O.K.? Never three. And when we do. . . what we do, I think each of us always has an eye to what our own partner is making of it. If Hansie didn’t like what I was doing to Phil, I would stop. If Hansie didn’t like what Piet was doing to me, I would stop. We’ll go most of the way, but not all the way. It’s far enough.
Anyway, I was going to do something about Hansie's birthday. This one was going to be memorable, because Hansie was happy, he was with me, he was settled, and all the rest of it. So for a start, I told all the people who ought to know. Phil and Piet, who were straight in among the plotting at once. Jim and Mary, who were going to take notice. Fran, who was not to be excluded, not if I knew what was good for me. Several other people. And then I just sat back and let it gather momentum.
Ach, I wasn’t expecting anything to happen on my birthday. Well, I thought Tim might have some carnal and interesting intentions for the evening, but otherwise? I was due to run a training session for the club, I would be at work all day, and it’s not as if it was a significant birthday, hey? Not a round number, or anything like that.
Ja, well, I got my cup of tea in bed from Tim. I was rather hoping for something else in bed from Tim, but he slid out of reach, and shook his head at me.
“We haven’t time, not to do it properly.”
“I want to do it improperly,” I sulked.
“Do you want your birthday present now, or later?”
Damfool question. Now.
“Get up, then. It’s all on the kitchen table. Shower first, and I’ll have breakfast ready by the time you come down.”
It was a mini hi-fi, with lots of buttons and knobs and things. There wasn’t a hope of me being able to wire it up correctly, but it was a wonderful gift. And there were two cases of wine on the table too.
“I don’t know these people. Where did you hear about them?”
“Nothing to do with me, sweetheart. They came yesterday.”
“Not you? Who then?” I couldn’t think who else would want to give me a birthday present. I wasn’t expecting one from anybody except Tim. Well, possibly a card from Piet and Phil.
“Open the card and see.”
It was Aunt Cornelia. I was totally taken aback. That she should even know when my birthday was, never mind take note of it!
“I must write to her to say thank you. Remind me, Tim, tonight, ja? I will send her an email. That was kind of her, don’t you think? I wonder how she knew? And why would she send me a gift?”
“She’s your family, Hansie, isn’t she? Why would she not? She seems to have taken on board that she watches over you and she’s doing it full time.”
“No, Hansie, not weird. This is how it’s supposed to work. It’s what happened before that was weird. Relax. This is how it is now.”
Ja well, it felt weird for me. Look, over about the last ten years, either nobody had noticed my birthday at all, or at best there had been one person who did. There were. . . there were people before Tim. Nothing like the relationship we have. I was too demanding, too needy. I can see that now. But Tim manages that, he gives me so much that I don’t need so much more. Does that make sense?
Anyway, we went to work, and I started on my post, and Tim sat at his desk, clearing his own work and looking smug.
“Tim? What’s with the grin? What’s so amusing?”
“Nothing, Hansie, nothing, I’m just wondering what to do first.”
“The monthly reports, please. Jim will have our heads if they aren’t done on time.”
“Yes, that’s what I thought, so I’m starting them just now.”
“But we’ll need them today, Timmy.”
“That’s what I said.”
“No, you said. . .”
“Hansie, relax. I mean English ‘just now’ which means I’ve already started, not South African ‘just now’ which is like ‘mañana’ only without the sense of urgency.”
“Ach, bladdy Englishman. Know-all.”
He blew me a kiss, and turned away, coughing, as Damian came in with the coffee.
And a cake.
“Damian? What’s this?”
“It’s a birthday cake, Hansie.”
I gave him a stare. A year ago he would have dropped the tray and burst into tears, but today he just grinned at me. “Don’t look at me, boss, Shona rang Miriam about it yesterday. And we all want a bit.”
I picked up the phone. “Good morning, Shona, this is Hansie.”
“Good morning, Hansie, happy birthday.”
“Ah, thank you. I’m having one. What’s this about cake?”
“The Old Man asked me yesterday to tell Miriam that it was your birthday today. So I did.”
“How did he know?”
“How should I know, Hansie? Maybe Personnel told him. Shall I ask. . . hold on a minute, Hansie, he’s shouting at me. Sir? Say it again? Oh. Hansie? He says Mrs Hamilton told him, and he wants a bit of cake with his coffee too.”
Well! What is that phrase that Sally Braithwaite uses? Carry me home and bury me decent?
“Damian? Cut up that cake, and leave some for me and Tim, and take two slices over to Shona, and the rest out into the office. And then perhaps WE COULD ALL GET SOME WORK DONE TODAY, THANK YOU ALL VERY MUCH?”
What were they all laughing about?
Jim appeared and insisted on taking us to lunch, and Mary came to meet us, holding a parcel.
“Hansie darling, happy birthday. This is from both of us.” It was a box of cds – choral music. Byrd and Tallis.
“Ach Mary, that is so kind. Thank you so much. You too, Jim. You didn’t need to do that.”
“Of course we didn’t need to, Hansie, dear. We wanted to. Now I met Fran in the town earlier and she primed me with a parcel too.” It was a book of photographs of Africa, very beautiful. I passed it round for them to see. I was touched, you know? I hadn’t expected a present from Fran.
“Oh, Hansie, I forgot,” said Jim, suddenly. “Greg can’t do training tonight, but Pieter de Vries is coming, and Phil Cartwright. That’s not a problem, is it?”
“No, sir, why should it be? Are you coming?”
“Yes, but I’ll have to be away promptly. I’ve got other things to do tonight. I’ll leave the keys with you.”
“No problem.” Well, it wasn’t a problem. Why would it be? Except that Tim and Jim were exchanging glances, and Tim had the giggles again. What on earth was wrong with him?
Training went off well. It was the second XV and Viper ran them ragged for the first session, and then he reffed and we split them up, and Phil took half of them and I took the other half, and made them play. They learned a lot, and Jim was pleased. Afterwards, we chased them out and I was about to go and have a shower and ask Piet and Phil back for a drink but Jim was talking to Phil, and they set off together towards the car park, and Piet asked me some vague question and distracted me. When I looked round again, Jim’s car was just disappearing down the road, and Phil was locking the car park barrier in place. He began to run back towards us, and it was only when he was about fifteen feet away that I realised he wasn’t going to stop. Ach, look, I’m not as quick as I used to be, you know? He hit me dead centre, and my feet left the ground, and next thing I was up over his shoulder and he was jogging towards the pavilion.
“What the hang are you doing? Put me down!”
He’d got me in a fireman’s hold, and he’s coming into his full growth now – I couldn’t get away. Mind you, once we got inside, and out of sight, I fought harder, laughing. I was hanging down his back, so I stuffed both hands down the back of his shorts and squeezed, and he squeaked, and wriggled, and nearly dropped me. Viper was close behind him, and he tapped me on the back.
“Behave, Hansie, or we may have to tickle you. Tim is waiting for us.”
“Tim? He is here? I thought he would be at home.”
“Well, he said he would meet us here. And James said he had given him the keys.”
“Ach, Viper, what is going on? James knows about this?”
Phil laughed. “Mr Hamilton said he was most decidedly not asking what was going on – he said he didn’t want to know.”
“Is that what he was saying to you?”
“Yup, and getting me to drop the barrier. Our cars are inside until tomorrow. I do believe there may be some drink taken tonight. After dinner.”
“We’re going out for dinner, Hansie.”
“Ach, but I’m filthy. So are you, come to that. Where are we going? I haven’t got a tie.”
“Filthy we can fix. Inside. Do I need to carry you, or will you walk?”
“I’ll walk. Put me down.”
I walked as far as the referee’s room, which was where I had changed, but Piet and Phil bustled me past and towards the main dressing room.
We went through the changing room and – well!
Tim had certainly gone the distance – the bath was full, and the wine was open. He was sitting on the bench, waiting for us, and grinning.
“Hey, what’s all this, Tim?”
“Your bath awaits you, Hansie. I know you like a glass of wine in your bath, so I arranged it.”
“I’m not getting in there, man.”
That threw Tim completely. Just for a moment, until Hansie added, wickedly, “Well, not on my own. Not on my birthday.”
Piet laughed. “You had better go in with him, Tim. A bath that size and just Hansie? He’ll get lost.”
I turned back and locked the door. Just in case. Since that event with Fran Milton at the other club, some of us have got a bit twitchy about locked doors. Tim was fighting with his shirt – he was wearing cufflinks and couldn’t get one of them out, so I caught his wrist, and did it for him.
“You too, Phil, hey? You’re all muddy.”
“No, this is your treat, Hansie. Go on, Tim.”
“Ja, well, if it’s my birthday, I get to choose, hey? There’s room for all of us. Pour some wine, somebody.”
“Oy, bossy, don’t go giving orders like that or I’ll remember that you haven’t had your birthday spanking yet.”
“The birthday boy gets a spanking – one for each year and a big one to grow on.”
“A big one growing? Sounds just like me, hey?”
Piet snorted, as he peeled his shirt over his head. “Go on, Tim, once Hansie starts talking dirty, he’ll just tune us all so much grief. Give him his spanking.”
“No, I don’t think so. You’re the Alpha Top, you do it.”
Tim’s smart. It didn’t take much thinking to work out what was at the back of that one. He and Hansie play, and I’ve spanked Hansie in fun, but any time he’s gone over Piet’s knee, it’s been serious. And a serious spanking from Piet is something you know afterwards that you’ve had. They’ve never played, not that way. I think Piet got that too, because he stalked Hansie round the outside of the bath, both of them laughing like idiots, and Hansie pretending to flee and not doing it very fast. He was caught, and dragged back down the room, and Piet braced one foot on the bench, and pushed Hansie over his knee.
“What do you think, Tim? Should we have his shorts down?”
“Oh, certainly. Allow me.”
Hansie fought, unconvincingly, struggling with his giggles.
“Keep still, you. Now, Tim, how old is he?”
“Shall I count for you?”
“Ah, thank you, that would help. Ready, Hansie?”
It was a red-faced and wriggling, but not noticeably chastened, Hansie who was allowed up, and ordered into the bath. I slid in ahead of him and he forged across the bath to me.
“I shall look to Phil to protect me from you two bullies.”
“That’s right. Come on, I’ll wash your back for you. I’ll keep them off, shall I? They aren’t kind to us.”
I washed Hansie's back, and then encouraged him up to his feet again and started on his legs. He was squirming a good deal again, and tended to giggle - he really is dreadfully ticklish. Piet and Tim sat with their backs to the end of the bath, and made ribald comments, until I drew Hansie to the other end, and sat on the edge of the bath, turning him to face them and pulling him back until he braced his red backside against my thighs. Then I started to soap his chest, slowly, and he sighed, and leaned his head back on my shoulder, his eyes shut.
“Phil? You’ve missed a bit.”
“You want that washed, Tim, you come and wash it yourself.”
“Nah, I’ll watch and make sure you do a thorough job.”
So Tim and Piet sat and watched us, and I went on washing Hansie's chest, and such other bits of Hansie as I could reach, and presently Hansie's breathing became ragged and gasping and I had to hold him up, and he turned his head into my neck. And then I soaped some very interesting and responsive bits of Hansie, and at the same time I whispered to him what Piet was doing to Tim, and presently I had to slide him down into the water and wash him some more, but very, very gently.
We drank the first bottle of wine before the water got cold.
It isn’t a long walk to The Ravenna, which is just as well, because we were all a bit giggly, and I at least could have done without Tim and Hansie making obscene sotto voce comments. Well, they’d already seen some action – Piet and I hadn’t, and I don’t have his level of self-control. But Hansie was in good form, happy about his birthday, telling us with every appearance of surprise about people giving him presents, about his staff arranging a cake for him, and so on.
Tim had booked a table for us, and the food’s good at Ravenna, so we ordered quickly and the waiter brought us another bottle of wine, and Piet lifted an eyebrow at me to prompt me.
“Hansie? This is from Piet and me. Happy birthday.”
It looked like nothing more than a birthday card, and I think that was all Hansie was expecting, so his face was priceless when he opened it and the tickets slid onto his plate.
“The Carmichael Hall? Ach, Phil, this is wonderful. I have never been there. And I have never heard that orchestra, but I want to. Thank you both so much. You are so kind.”
I leered at him. “You can show us how grateful you are later.”
“Oh, no, Phil, don’t start him giggling. We’ll get no sense from him, not that we ever do. Look, I think this is ours.”
We ended up back at our house. Well, I think we had known all along that we were going to – and how it was likely to develop. Brandy, that was where it started, and Hansie stretched out along our sofa with his head in Tim’s lap, and Tim combing his fingers through Hansie's hair. Hansie loves that – if anybody does it for any length of time, he goes boneless and all but purrs. I suddenly had a thought: “Here, have you guys seen this yet?”
“What is it?” asked Tim, lazily.
“It’s Fran’s book.”
Tim nearly spilled his drink as Hansie heaved himself upright. “Show me!”
It was a local charity which started Fran on this, aided and abetted by somebody she knew at the hospital. The friend of a friend had died of prostate cancer and Fran had been roped in to do a book of photographs of men as a fundraiser. She got paid, but we know that she took her costs out of the fee and sent most of it back. She’s getting to be quite a big name in photography, and the book is large and glossy and full of people we know. There are a dozen famous names who stripped, or semi-stripped for her, and then she made up the balance from her friends and her friends’ friends.
“Are we in it?” asked Tim.
“And then some. Look, here you are.”
“Ach, Tim, you look hot. Those shorts are decidedly too tight. I love them.”
“Is Hansie in?”
“About two pages further on, discreetly draped in green velvet, and apparently asleep.”
“Ooooh. . . What about you and Piet?”
“I’m here, look, disguised behind a rugby ball, and there’s Piet.”
“Good. . . grief. How did she do that?”
“How did she do what, Tim?”
“Well, look, I’ve only got my shorts on, and Hansie is plainly only wearing a bit of a bedspread, and Phil is equally plainly not wearing anything at all, and yes, we all look hot. But you haven’t taken off anything except your shirt and you look like sex on a stick.”
“She took the picture in the park. She said I could not take off any more without being arrested. Actually, no, she said she would be arrested, not me.”
“I think she was probably right. . . It isn’t fair. Let’s face it, Piet, Phil’s better looking than you any day. So what have you got that the rest of us haven’t? Anybody else we know, Phil?”
“Yes, that one and – that one, the black guy, are from the cricket club. Isn’t he just gorgeous? And there are two more. Look, Tim.”
“That’s Jim! How did she persuade him, hey?”
“Apparently she asked Mary, and Mary told him he had to do it.”
“Figures. I’m so glad he’s got his trousers on.”
“Why? He’s in good shape, for his age. Well, for any age.”
“Imagine coming across a picture of your dad in the nude, Phil, and knowing it was on public release.”
“Ah. I see. Not comfortable. Leave him, then and look at page 67.”
“Bet you didn’t know she’d taken that.”
“Too right I didn’t. Look Hansie, it’s Simon. He’s too thin.”
“Ach, that’s just that you like us rugby players. Not everybody does. Some people prefer the slender type.”
“Well, I reckon this should sell, Phil, don’t you? How come you’ve got a copy?”
“Fran sent one round. She’s probably got one for you too – she said she got a dozen free. I wanted a big print of Piet, but she’s signed over the copyright. Shame.”
“Koekie, if you want a big picture of me, we will talk to Fran and get her to take one. But I still think you would do better just to let me pose next to you. Tableaux vivants. More fun. You can arrange me however you would like.”
We all thought about that for a moment or two, and Hansie moaned. “Ach, and I was so comfortable and relaxed, and now look what you’ve done.”
Tim laughed. “You aren’t going to sleep yet, lover. I’m not Fran – you don’t fall asleep when I stroke your hair.”
“He falls asleep when Fran does?” I enquired with interest. “So when did Fran do this?”
Hansie glared at Tim, and turned back to me. “When you were all away and I had my accident. Fran and I watched your match together, and afterwards she stroked my hair and I fell asleep. It was very embarrassing, ja?”
“Rather sweet,” I commented. Hansie was blushing again: there was more to this, but he wasn’t going to tell us. He turned the subject adroitly. “So what about these poses with Piet? I want to see those.”
“The birthday boy’s wish is my command,” I commented, leaning over to Piet. “Look, here we have the esteemed individual, Pieter de Vries, fully dressed. And here, we have him with two of his shirt buttons undone. Do we like this? We do? Shall we undo another button? And another? How does it please Mr van den Broek to arrange his models?”
Well, we had Piet posed in the doorway, lying on the sofa, sitting in front of the fire, and elegantly draped in his loving partner. I could feel the muscles of his abdomen flutter as he tried not to laugh. Then Hansie said firmly, “Now, Tim, you go and lean on his other shoulder. A triptych. Lovely. Fran should have put that in the book, don’t you think? Instant wet dream, you are, fersure.”
We looked at each other for a moment and then Tim threw himself on Hansie. “Prove it. If we’re so hot, show us what we do for you.”
“But not here,” added Piet, firmly. “I am too old to roll on the floor that way.”
“That’s not what you said on Tuesday,” I pointed out.
“What did he say on Tuesday?” enquired Hansie, interested.
“‘Keep still, brat, while I drill you into the carpet.’”
“Yes, and if you recall, I had carpet burns on my knees and a crick in my neck all day on Wednesday. Come.”
“He said that too, Hansie.”
“And did you do as you were told, hey?”
Piet growled, and he and Tim hauled Hansie to his feet and ran him up the stairs. I followed, having enough wit to stop for the brandy and the glasses. By the time I caught up, they had Hansie flat on his back on our bed, still giggling.
“Help me, Phil - I think their intentions are not honourable!”
“You don’t say! Can you produce any evidence to back up this remarkable allegation?”
“Ja, the fact that Tim keeps trying to unbutton my shirt. And where Piet has his hand. Um, and what he’s doing with it.” (This last had an octave break in the middle, which didn’t surprise me. I always squeak when Piet does that to me too.)
I put down the brandy bottle and knelt on the bed. “Shall I make him stop?”
“Well, I could sacrifice myself for you. I could beg him to do it to me instead. But you’re on your own with Tim. And you’ll owe me. Alternatively, I could change my allegiance and help them.”
He does wriggle, Hansie does.
Well, I wouldn’t argue with that. Hansie does wriggle. It comes of being so ticklish. But this time Piet and Phil held him down and let me at him. I took my time. Well, it wasn’t his first turn of the evening, any more than it was mine. Phil and Piet helped, until Hansie stopped wriggling and began sighing and murmuring approval, and then Piet seemed to think that Phil deserved a little attention of his own. I’ve got to find out precisely what it is that Piet does, because I never managed to get Phil to make that noise – it sounds like somebody letting out the bathwater – and he and I were well up with the front runners in bed together. But Hansie squawked, and Phil was very vocal in his approval, and Piet and I were quieter, and then we all lay in a warm tangle for a while and drank some more brandy. And presently Hansie said sleepily, “Tim, I think we should go home, hey? If I don’t get up soon, I won’t be able to get up at all.”
“No need, if you don’t want to,” said Phil, lazily, and without opening his eyes. “I went to the chemist this morning for a new toothbrush, and it occurred to me that you two were here quite often, so I bought a multipack, and a bottle of that stuff Tim uses for his contact lenses. I think there’s a lens case in the pack. And I don’t mind sharing my razor. So go or stay as you like.”
I lifted my head. “Phil, what would we do without you? You have more plain common sense than anyone I know.”
He opened one eye and squinted at me, probably to see if I was being patronising, so I wriggled round to get an arm under his neck and to kiss him. He relaxed again. “Whatever you want to do. We haven’t got plans for the morning, although we’re training after lunch. I shouldn’t have drunk so much tonight. The coach will shout at me.”
The coach was finishing his brandy. “I do not shout. I do not need to. Also, I can be bribed. I do not remember you drinking too much, and you have worked most of it off anyway. He is right, Hansie, you and Tim may stay or go at your pleasure.”
“Ach, it’s too comfortable here, Tim. Do you want to go home?”
“Not particularly. If you want to stay, we’ll stay.”
So we stayed, and presently Hansie shifted slightly, and said, “Piet? That’s very nice, but I’m telling you fersure, it isn’t going to lead anywhere. I am not a teenager any more, you know? Twice, yes, but three times? No, not a hope. Not until the morning. I can’t possibly.”
“If you do not like it, I shall stop.”
“I do like it, I like it a lot. It’s very relaxing. But if you mean anything by it. . . well, I would hate to disappoint, but I absolutely can’t.”
I heard Phil give a snort of amusement, which I didn’t quite understand, and then he eased up onto one elbow and encouraged me to do the same, and cast me a conspiratorial glance. I didn’t get what he meant at first, but he was watching Piet, who was stroking lazy circles over Hansie, very slowly, sometimes with the flat of his hand, sometimes with his nails, sometimes with a single finger. And Piet murmured, with his own edge of amusement, “As long as you like it, Hansie, I am not asking you for anything you are not capable of giving.”
Piet looked up at both of us, and raised an eyebrow enquiringly. Phil made a face and threw a calculating look at Hansie. “Half an hour,” he mouthed. Piet looked shocked. “Less,” he mouthed back. They both glanced at the clock. I began to get what this was about, and shook my head. They both looked surprised. I leaned to Phil’s ear.
“With that much alcohol inside him? He won’t be up for a. . . hell, I didn’t mean that – well, actually I suppose I did. He won’t be up for a third time tonight, no matter what.”
Phil grinned. “Watch and learn. My record is six times between seven and midnight, although I don’t recommend it. I’d been teasing Piet about going clubbing with the guys to get some extra, and he just worked me over all night. I couldn’t stand up afterwards, and I won’t say it was comfortable the next morning, but at the time – well!”
So I watched, and as Phil suggested, I learned. Learned from the Master. Dear heavens, but Piet’s good. He did things I’d never seen done, some of them things I’d never even heard of. All of them were slow and gentle, and I’m not sure that Hansie actually realised that he was getting anything more than a relaxing massage until it was far too late for him to argue. We all know that Hansie's hairline is sensitive, and his nipples, but the backs of his knees? And his wrists? Phil dug me in the ribs at that point and leaned over to say, softly, “Piet loves that himself – lick his wrists and deep throat his fingers and he’s putty.”
Putty. Piet. No, I can’t make that sentence work.
But after a while I thought: this is very educational, Tim, but you ought to do a practical as well as watching the demonstration. So I began to copy what Piet was doing onto Phil, who smiled, and rolled a little to facilitate things. And it was his second time, to Hansie's third, so he was quicker about it. They were just about at the same point when Hansie realised that he had been mistaken about his capabilities, and Piet caught my eye and made a gesture to offer Hansie back to me, and rather to my surprise I shook my head, and went on with what I was doing to Phil, and watched as Piet tipped Hansie over the edge, and Phil followed him down.
“Now I am definitely dead, hey? And gone to heaven. And I am never going to be able to do anything again. Don’t touch; it’s broken. Beyond repair.”
Aw, shame, Hansie, when I was just thinking that tomorrow I would see if it’s only Piet who can make you squirm like that. I might need several attempts. And I want to know what it feels like.
“Somebody has got to do something about Piet, hey? And I’m not fit to help. Make him scream.”
“Phil, explain again about Piet’s hands?”
So he did, and I started on Piet’s hands while Phil got his breath back, and then he took one and I took the other, and after a little, I realised that when Piet’s happy, he hums, deep in his chest.
And he didn’t scream – I can’t imagine him ever screaming – but for the first time since I met him, I heard him lose his English. Completely. I have no illusions about it, it wasn’t for my benefit, it was Phil’s doing, but I helped.
I’m very proud of that
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