![]() Not the kind of cough you make when you have phlegm in your throat, oh no. The cheers were as thunderous as a hurricane. Technically, it shouldn’t even have been possible to hear it. ‘When that tosser Ambrose shows his bloody face here, I ain’t gonna be afraid of him! I’ll step up to him, and tell to go bugger himself! Aye, I will!’Īnd then, someone cleared his throat. I wondered how the man was still able to move his arms. ‘The pittance that bugger Ambrose pays us ain’t worth pissing for, let alone working!’ People all around him were nodding and cheering him on. ‘…ain’t gonna suffer under the yoke of oppression any longer!’ one of the men who had climbed onto one of the machines was yelling. ![]() They had all the paraphernalia essential to the modern, self-respecting mob: torches, axes, protest signs heavy enough to bash people on the head with, and most of all: bloodlust in their eyes. He strode directly towards the large crowd of factory workers, men women and children, gathered at one end of the hall. Mr Ambrose seemed to suffer under no such problems. The thick mix of smoke, sweat and unidentifiable filth in the air made me cough and cover my mouth and nose with my arm. ![]() Inside the factory, it was as dark as in a coalminers unwashed pants, and it smelled nearly as bad. ![]()
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