A shadow on the stairs of the building with the open door. A woman emerged, and Tiffany gasped as she recognised her sister. She reached for the button to wind down her window, Rotter clamped a hand on her wrist, and held a finger up to his lips. Tiffany obeyed, understanding the importance of his unspoken command.
When the woman had disappeared in to Shaftesbury Avenues busy throng, Rotter paid the driver, and led Tiffany into the building. Without hesitation Rotter kicked in the door on the first floor landing, entered, dragging Tiffany behind him. As she took in the scene before her she let out a short scream and turned for the door.
"It's ok, they're only suits."
Tiffany stared in wonder at the dozens of Womble disguises hanging from the ceiling of the room.
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Fist is a four letter word. So is fist, fist, fist, fist, fist, fist fist, fist, fist, fist, fist, and, well you get the fist-fucking picture....
THE WESTCOUNTRY SHALL RISE AGAIN!
Yay! It's pink!
Don't think.... FEEL!
We're Englishmen, and we came here, to rape your women and drink your beer.
I went back in time and voted for Hitler.
Pouring oil on troubled waters since 2008. Then lighting a fucking match.
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