Jan came up at one to tell us it had been the mailman. Peter hurried downstairs again.
Ding-dong... the doorbell, about-face. I listened to hear if anyone was coming,
standing first at the bookcase, then at the top of the stairs.
Finally Peter and I leaned over the banister, straining our ears like a couple of burglars to hear the sounds from downstairs.
No unfamiliar voices. Peter tiptoed halfway down the stairs and called out, “Bep!”
Once more: “Bep!” His voice was drowned out by the racket in the kitchen.
So he ran down to the kitchen while I nervously kept watch from above.
Go upstairs at once, Peter, the accountant’s here, you’ve got to leave!
It was Mr. Kugler’s voice. Sighing, Peter came upstairs and closed the bookcase.
Mr. Kugler finally came up at one-thirty. “My gosh, the whole world’s turned to strawberries.
I had strawberries for breakfast, Jan’s having them for lunch, Kleiman’s eating them as a snack,
Miep’s bottling them, Bep’s hulling them, and I can smell them everywhere I go.
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