I leaned forward, and made a web of my fingers.
The connection between the following events still eludes me:
The culprit had scampered off in an octagonal rage, leaving me in the meanwhile with a head swelled up to inconsiderate proportions. (The crime had been committed in the sub-cellar, in the frenzied digging earlier in the day.)
As I stretched my legs, I obstructed the traffic near the bin of mandarin oranges, and customers lumbered swervingly aside.
The first thing I had noticed?
I had been bitten by a spider.