“Bloody carollers,” Reginald Crump muttered as he trudged through the brown slush that coated the high street. “Clogging up the streets… and don’t get me started on that screeching they think is singing. Used to be folk knew how to hold a tune.”
He entered Martin’s News and picked up a copy of the Daily Mail from about half way down the pile to avoid the tatty, blown-about copies at the top. He added a copy of the local rag and approached the counter to pay.
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