“The Cakes!”

“The Cakes!”

The Cakes were flying out of the door.

“Stop!” came the cry from the rear of the café.

The last few Victoria Sponge slices beat their wings all the more and reached the freedom of the open air.

“Come back here at once!” shouted Mrs. Flour.

The cakes, not having ears, turned a blind eye to the command.

Free of the café, where they had always waited for the slice of the cake knife with dread, the cakes swooped and glided along the air currents above the town.

“Crumbs!” said the first Herring gull that spotted them – and very soon they were.

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