Abbey Mills
Inside they were confronted by a short, portly pensioner in a flat cap, grey flannels and bracers over a grubby singlet. At his heal was an alert French bulldog on a length of thick string.
“You could have just knocked.”
“Ah, sorry.”
“We weren’t expecting anyone to be here.”
“Well, I’m here and I’m the caretaker. The black gang’s down in the boiler room too, and they’re big buggers. You lot look…
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