could have “sunk” so low. With respect to manners, I mean.
For example, the same oilcloth has covered the dining table ever since we've been here.
After so much use, it's hardly what you'd call spotless.
I do my best to clean it, but since the dishcloth was also purchased before we went into hiding
and consists of more holes than cloth, it's a thankless task.
The van Daans have been sleeping all winter long on the same flannel sheet,
which can't be washed because detergent is rationed and in short supply.
Besides, it's of such poor quality that it's practically useless.
Father is walking around in frayed trousers, and his tie is also showing signs of wear and tear.
Mama's corset snapped today and is beyond repair, while Margot is wearing a bra that's two sizes too small,
Mother and Margot have shared the same three undershorts the entire winter, and mine are so small they don't even cover my stomach.
These are all things that can be overcome, but I sometimes wonder: how can we, whose every possession, from my underpants to Father's shaving brush,
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