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One evening this week, as I tackled a particularly intricate piece of lace knitting, I was overcome by the sensation of being watched by several pairs of eyes.

Minutes later, a chilling scream from the small female’s bedroom suggested all was not well upstairs.

I finished my row, and then raced upstairs to a mask of sheer terror and bed ridden paralysis.

The intruder was still in the room, sitting on the window sill.

Arachnophobia runs in the family so I grabbed her hand and we both fled downstairs.

Later, feeling brave, we returned to the bedroom. The spider had gone so I drew back the curtains to look for her. I was presented with the most exquisite collection of lacework.

Each glass pane was covered with the finest threads woven, knitted and knotted into complex and delicate structures and patterns – more intricate and accomplished than anything I could achieve on two needles.

Arachne is still a competitive and arrogant weaver.


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