But the story doesn't end there. You see, Mrs. van D. is going to have to part with her fur coat.
In her opinion, the firm should pay for our upkeep, but that's ridiculous.
They just had a flaming row about it and have entered the “oh, my sweet Putti” and “darling Kerli” stage of reconciliation.
My mind boggles at the profanity this honorable house has had to endure in the past month.
Father walks around with his lips pressed together, and whenever he hears his name, he looks up in alarm,
as if he's afraid he'll be called upon to resolve another delicate problem.
Mother's so wrought up her cheeks are blotched with red, Margot complains of headaches, Dussel can't sleep,
Mrs. van D. frets and fumes all day long, and I've gone completely round the bend.
To tell you the truth, I sometimes forget who we're at odds with and who we're not.
The only way to take my mind off it is to study, and I've been doing a lot of that lately. Yours, Anne
FRIDAY, OCTOBER 29, 1943
My dearest Kitty, Mr. Kleiman is out again; his stomach won't give him a moment's peace.
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