Picnic Panic
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The afternoon sun hung heavy over the quilted spread of lemon tarts and lavender tea when twigs cracked behind the rosehip bushes. Mabel’s knitting needles froze mid-stitch as a hulking shadow lumbered into the clearing, nostrils flaring at the scent of freshly churned butter and blackberry jam sandwiches still warm from Mabel’s wicker basket.
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