“That's sure to be a problem,” I thought to myself the first time. “There're bound to be complaints.”
I was right: Mother got a headache from the thick clouds of dust whirling around the room,
Margot's new Latin dictionary was caked with dirt, and Pim grumbled that the floor didn't look any different anyway.
Small thanks for my pains. We've decided that from now on the stove is going to be lit at seven-thirty on Sunday mornings instead of five-thirty.
I think it's risky. What will the neighbors think of our smoking chimney?
It's the same with the curtains. Ever since we first went into hiding, they've been tacked firmly to the windows.
Sometimes one of the ladies or gentlemen can't resist the urge to peek outside.
The result: a storm of reproaches. The response: “Oh, nobody will notice.”
That's how every act of carelessness begins and ends. No one will notice, no one will hear, no one will pay the least bit of attention.
Easy to say, but is it true? At the moment, the tempestuous quarrels have subsided; only Dussel and the van Daans are still at loggerheads.
When Dussel is talking about Mrs. van D., he invariably calls her “that old bat” or “that stupid hag”,
and conversely, Mrs. van D. refers to our ever so learned gentleman as an “old maid”
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