Mr Dover performed well in the competition, but was he good enough? He now waits for an answer. My dear reader, I think, it is more respectful to Mr. Dover, and clearer for our storytelling, to portray the results day as below.

Here is an extract from Ben’s blog.

So I was back in Camford in a quantum mechanics lecture. The lecturer was a short, bald English gentleman, although quite stern at times. The cool AC-air stroked by forehead as I was about to fall asleep to this terrible crime that is physics. I shook my head, the soft baritone and screeches of the chalk back in my ears. ‘RINGINGGGGNGIGNGINING’, I sat up with a start, becoming conscious of a vibration in my pocket. Cold beads covered my forehead as the lecturer stopped. A moment of silence passed, and the ringing stroke again. My hand shook the entire journey when I took out my phone, a +33 number on the screen. Uncertainty sank down in my chest, I couldn’t breathe. ‘Take it.’ The baritone sounded with authority, ‘I said take it.’ My forehead is a waterfall now and I wet my pants from the sweat. ‘Bonjour.’ I looked up, the cold, hard aquamarine eyes staring through me. ‘You are from ENS.’ It was not a question. I nodded, the stare still piercing, I looked down again, realising the caller cannot see me. ‘Yes’, I said, and said again. The other end of the line still spoke, but the words were jumbled, difficult to decode. Jubilation dawned upon me as the edges of my lips contracted unwillingly. I said a quick thank you, my heart still beating hard. My head jerked up, bringing my eyes level to the short man. I kept that stare as I quickly packed up and left the hall.

Three months after, I got off the plane and walked forward with sure steps. ‘Bonjour’, I looked back to see a short Romani behind my back, a man waving in the distance.

Mr Dover’s hokgod life begins now.