we haven't yet forgotten the voice of nature, and we keep hoping, hoping for... everything.
Let something happen soon, even an air raid. Nothing can be more crushing than this anxiety.
Let the end come, however cruel; at least then we'll know whether we are to be the victors or the vanquished. Yours, Anne M. Frank
WEDNESDAY, MAY 31, 1944
Dearest Kitty, Saturday, Sunday, Monday and Tuesday it was too hot to hold my fountain pen, which is why I couldn't write to you.
Friday the drains were clogged, Saturday they were fixed.
Mrs. Kleiman came for a visit in the afternoon and told us a lot about Jopie; she and Jacque van Maarsen are in the same hockey club.
Sunday Bep dropped by to make sure there hadn't been a break-in and stayed for breakfast.
Monday (a holiday because of Pentecost), Mr. Gies served as the Annex watchman, and Tuesday we were finally allowed to open the windows.
We've seldom had a Pentecost weekend that was so beautiful and warm. Or maybe “hot” is a better word.
Hot weather is horrible in the Annex. To give you an idea of the numerous complaints, I'll briefly describe these sweltering days.
Saturday: “Wonderful, what fantastic weather,” we all said in the morning.
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