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  Cobblers.
  
  There was Mr Bryant, on the hill, near Mr Files' newsagent. But the one that impressed me as a youngster was the cave-like shop in Ethelbert Road. I forget the man's name, but the place was a little intimidating, with lasts and tools scattered about in the darkness, a pungent leather smell, and him on his high stool tapping away at a boot, like something out of Grimm.

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