Around 5:00 a.m., there was a knock on the door of 54 Berners Street, a modest house north of Oxford Street in London. It was a chimney sweep who claimed to have been called. The maid suggested that he was wrong and set off.
A few moments later there was another swing with the same story, then another until the disgruntled maid had sent a total of 12 away. But the hairpin bends were just the beginning. Next came coal wagons, each claiming they had a major order for number 54, which Mrs. Tottenham, the owner, said she hadn't asked.
The cake makers, each wearing 10 Guinea wedding cakes, were hot on their heels. Then the doctors called and followed the pharmacists, surgeons and lawyers, followed by vicars and priests to serve the resident who was dying. Outside, a group of rather amus...
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