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...ate, their too chicken, the Krakanov’ll ‘av ‘em.” Mocked Wellsy.

“Fine then, fifty quid. You think we don’t have the bottle, stick fifty down and we’ll do it.” Jack didn’t like being called chicken; he was young. Proud, foolish and young. His temper had got him into far more trouble than it was worth and Sarah was no better. Her tongue was as sharp and as unforthcoming as Jacks, more so when she was pushed, the only difference was she knew how to bide her time and pick her moments...

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