My sisters, like my parents, were to be treated with regard and respect.
If you had had a quarrel with them, your own conscience accused you afterwards
as the wrongdoer and the cause of the squabble, as the one who had to beg pardon.
For in opposing my sisters I offended my parents, the representatives of goodness and law.
There were secrets which I would much sooner have shared with the most depraved street urchins than with my sisters.
On good, bright days when I had a good conscience, it was often delightful to play with my sisters,
to be gentle and nice to them, and to see myself under a halo of goodness.
That was how it must be if you were an angel!
That was the most sublime thing we knew, to be an angel, surrounded by sweet sounds and fragrance like Christmas and happiness.
But, oh, how seldom were such days and hours perfect!
Often when we were playing one of the nice, harmless, proper games I was so vehement and impetuous,
and I so annoyed my sisters that we quarreled and were unhappy.
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