Malusi seemed happy enough with the kit I’d left him with recently, on a street corner in Norwood: a leather jacket salvaged from the top of the bins at my complex, a pair of worn boots, and a bag of shirts, jerseys and socks. Also, R200 for the golf balls he’d picked up at the Killarney Country Club — I imagine.

He hobbled off in his new lummy, both uplifted and condemned by my charity, such as it was...

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