“I'll have to go back to being alone, without anyone to confide in and without Peter, without hope, comfort or anything to look forward to.”
“Oh, if only I could rest my head on his shoulder and not feel so hopelessly alone and deserted!”
“Who knows, maybe he doesn't care for me at all and looks at the others in the same tender way.”
Maybe I only imagined it was especially for me. Oh, Peter, if only you could hear me or see me.
If the truth is disappointing, I won't be able to bear it.
A little later I felt hopeful and full of expectation again, though my tears were still flowing -- on the inside. Yours, Anne M. Frank
SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 20, 1944
What happens in other people's houses during the rest of the week happens here in the Annex on Sundays.
While other people put on their best clothes and go strolling in the sun, we scrub, sweep and do the laundry.
Eight o'clock. Though the rest of us prefer to sleep in, Dussel gets up at eight.
He goes to the bathroom, then downstairs, then up again and then to the bathroom, where he devotes a whole hour to washing himself.
Nine-thirty. The stoves are lit, the blackout screen is taken down, and Mr. van Daan heads for the bathroom.
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