and because no one is allowed to travel there without a special permit. An ordinary salesman like Mr. Broks would never be granted a permit.
Yesterday Father put on another act. Groggy with sleep, he stumbled off to bed.
His feet were cold, so I lent him my bed socks. Five minutes later he flung them to the floor.
Then he pulled the blankets over his head because the light bothered him.
The lamp was switched off, and he gingerly poked his head out from under the covers.
It was all very amusing. We started talking about the fact that Peter says Margot is a “buttinsky.”
Suddenly Daddy's voice was heard from the depths: “Sits on her butt, you mean.”
Mouschi, the cat, is becoming nicer to me as time goes by, but I'm still somewhat afraid of her. Yours, Anne
SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 27, 1942
Dearest Kitty, Mother and I had a so-called “discussion” today, but the annoying part is that I burst into tears.
I can't help it. Daddy is always nice to me, and he also understands me much better.
At moments like these I can't stand Mother. It's obvious that I'm a stranger to her;
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