All day long I tried not to look at him too much, because whenever I did, I caught him looking at me and then --
well, it made me feel wonderful inside, and that's not a feeling I should have too often.
Sunday evening everyone, except Pim and me, was clustered around the radio, listening to the “Immortal Music of the German Masters.”
Dussel kept twisting and turning the knobs, which annoyed Peter, and the others too.
After restraining himself for half an hour, Peter asked somewhat irritably if he would stop fiddling with the radio.
Dussel replied in his haughtiest tone, “Ich mach' das schon!” [I'll decide that.]
Peter got angry and made an insolent remark. Mr. van Daan sided with him, and Dussel had to back down.
That was it. The reason for the disagreement wasn't particularly interesting in and of itself,
but Peter has apparently taken the matter very much to heart, because this morning, when I was rummaging around in the crate of books in the attic,
Peter came up and began telling me what had happened. I didn't know anything about it,
but Peter soon realized he'd found an attentive listener and started warming up to his subject.
“Well, it's like this,” he said. “I don't usually talk much, since I know beforehand I'll just be tongue-tied.
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