Some of our clothing was left with friends, but unfortunately we won't be able to get to it until after the war.
Provided it's still there, of course. I'd just finished writing something about Mrs. van Daan when she walked into the room.
Thump, I slammed the book shut.Hey, Anne, can't I even take a peek?” “No, Mrs. van Daan.
Just the last page then?” “No, not even the last page, Mrs. van Daan.
Of course, I nearly died, since that particular page contained a rather unflattering description of her.
There's something happening every day, but I'm too tired and lazy to write it all down. Yours, Anne
FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 25, 1942
Dearest Kitty, Father has a friend, a man in his mid-seventies named Mr. Dreher, who's sick, poor and deaf as a post.
At his side, like a useless appendage, is his wife, twenty-seven years younger and equally poor,
whose arms and legs are loaded with real and fake bracelets and rings left over from more prosperous days.
This Mr. Dreher has already been a great nuisance to Father,
and I've always admired the saintly patience with which he handled this pathetic old man on the phone.
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