The Disappearing Cellar [antikvár]

How I, Pia Maria Tiralla, see something from my kitchen window which gets me into this story. The fat old lady in the picture is me, Pia Maria Tiralla, sixty-three years of age, spinster, old age pensioner. Up to last year I had only two passions in life: eating meringues and looking out of the window. Meringues are expensive. Looking out of the window is cheap. I bought meringues for Sundays only; I looked out of the window every day of the week. I usually sat at the living-room window to watch what was going on in the street, and if I couldn't see something very clearly then I would pick up my opera glasses and bring it closer. I never sat at the kitchen window. All you could see from the kitchen window was the backs of the buildings in our block, which were even uglier than the fronts. Each of these houses has a yard behind it. There are some chestnut trees growing in one 5