The streets were quiet as I wandered between the oak-lined avenues of the older quarter of Stellenbosch on that Sunday morning. Shoes in hand dodging from patch of shade to patch of shade as the sun had already baked the ground it touched, I tried to find my bearings in order to get back to the deVriert household. My hosts were not going to be wondering where I was when I had not returned on the previous night. There was an alarming and yet also disarming air of honesty in the house, and I was sure that Zander was going to be regaling the family with my conquest over breakfast as I tried to find my way back through the city.
It had been my third night on the Cape and Zander and his brothers had taken it upon themselves to get the English boy laid, “good’n’proper”. They took me into town and found the busiest student bar that they could. They introduced me to every Cape Cutie that came by the table, whether she was interested or not. It took them two hours, the fact that Clarissa was Canadian was not important.
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