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but we went on chatting very pleasantly； about father； about judging human character and all sorts of things； so many that i cant even remember them all。
i left at a quarter past five； because bep had arrived。
that evening he said something else i thought was nice。 we were talking about the picture of a movie star id once given him； which has been hanging in his room for at least a year and a half。 he liked it so much that i offered to give him a few more。
〃no；〃 he replied； 〃id rather keep the one ive got。 i look at it every day； and the people in it have bee my friends。鈥�
i now have a better understanding of why he always hugs mouschi so tightly。 he obviously needs affection too。 i forgot to mention something else he was talking about。
he said； 〃no； im not afraid； except when it es to things about myself； but im working on that。鈥�
peter has a huge inferiority plex。 for example； he always thinks hes so stupid and were so smart。 when i help him with french； he thanks me a thousand times。 one of these days im going to say； 〃oh； cut it out！ youre much better at english and geography！鈥�
anne frank
thursday； february 17； 1944
dear kitty；
i was upstairs this morning； since i promised mrs。 van d。 id read her some of my stories。 i began with 〃evas dream；〃 which she liked a lot； and then i read a few passages from 〃the secret annex；〃 which had her in stitches。 peter also listened for a while （just the last part） and asked if id e to his room sometime to read more。
i decided i had to take a chance right then and there； so i got my notebook and let him read that bit where cady and hans talk about god。 i cant really tell what kind of impression it made on him。 he said something i dont quite remember； not about whether it was good； but about the idea behind it。 i told him i just wanted him to see that i didnt write only amusing things。 he nodded； and i left the room。 well see if i hear anything more！
yours； anne
frank
friday； february 18； 1944
my dearest kitty；
whenever i go upstairs； its always so i can see 〃him。〃 now that i have something to look forward to； my life here has improved greatly。
at least the object of my friendship is always here； and i dont have to be afraid of rivals （except for margot）。 dont think im in love； because im not； but i do have the feeling that something beautiful is going to develop between peter and me； a kind of friendship and a feeling of trust。 i go see him whenever i get the chance； and its not the way it used to be； when he didnt know what to make of me。 on the contrary； hes still talking away as im heading out the door。 mother doesnt like me going upstairs。 she always says im bothering peter and that i should leave him alone。
honestly； cant she credit me with some intuition？ she always looks at me so oddly when i go to peters room。 when i e down again； she asks me where ive been。
its terrible； but im beginning to hate her！
yours； anne
m。 frank
saturday； february 19； 1944
dearest kitty；
its saturday again； and that should tell you enough。 this morning all was quiet。 i spent nearly an hour upstairs making meatballs； but i only spoke to 〃him〃 in passing。
when everyone went upstairs at two…thirty to either read or take a nap； i went downstairs； with blanket and all； to sit at the desk and read or write。 before long i couldnt take it anymore。 i put my head in my arms and sobbed my heart out。 the tears streamed down my cheeks； and i felt desperately unhappy。 oh； if only he〃 had e to fort me。
it was past four by the time i went upstairs again。 at five oclock i set off to get some potatoes； hoping once again that wed meet； but while i was still in the bathroom fixing my hair； he went to see boche。
i wanted to help mrs。 van d。 and went upstairs with my book and everything； but suddenly i felt the tears ing again。 i raced downstairs to the bathroom； grabbing the hand mirror on the way。 i sat there on the toilet； fully dressed； long after i was through； my tears leaving dark spots on the red of my apron； and i felt utterly dejected。
heres what was going through my mind： 〃oh； ill never reach peter this way。 who knows； maybe he doesnt even like me and he doesnt need anyone to confide in。
maybe he only thinks of me in a casual sort of way。 ill have to go back to being alone； without anyone to confide in and without peter； without hope； fort 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 doesnt 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 wont be able to bear it。鈥�
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 peoples 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 oclock。 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。 one of my sunday morning ordeals is having to lie in bed and look at dussels back when hes praying。 i know it sounds strange； but a praying dussel is a terrible sight to behold。 its not that he cries or gets sentimental； not at all； but he does spend a quarter of an hour an entire fifteen minutes rocking from his toes to his heels。 back and forth； back and forth。 it goes on forever； and if i dont shut my eyes tight； my head starts to spin。
ten…fifteen。 the van daans whistle； the bathrooms free。 in the frank family quarters； the first sleepy faces are beginning to emerge from their pillows。 then everything happens fast； fast； fast。 margot and i take turns doing the laundry。 since its quite cold downstairs； we put on pants and head scarves。 meanwhile； father is busy in the bathroom。 either margot or i have a turn in the bathroom at eleven； and then were all clean。
eleven…thirty。 breakfast。 i wont dwell on this； since theres enough talk about food without my bringing the subject up as well。
twelve…fifteen。 we each go our separate ways。 father； clad in overalls； gets down on his hands and knees and brushes the rug so vigorously that the room is enveloped in a cloud of dust。 mr。 dussel makes the beds （all wrong； of course）； always whistling the same beethoven violin concerto as he goes about his work。 mother can be heard shuffling around the attic as she hangs up the washing。 mr。 van daan puts on his hat and disappears into the lower regions； usually followed by peter and mouschi。 mrs。
van d。 dons a long apron； a black wool jacket and overshoes； winds a red wool scarf around her head； scoops up a bundle of dirty laundry and； with a well…rehearsed washerwomans nod； heads downstairs。 margot and i do the dishes and straighten up the room。
wednesday； february 23；1944
my dearest kitty；
the weathers been wonderful since yesterday； and ive perked up quite a bit。 my writing； the best thing i have； is ing along well。 i go to the attic almost every morning to get the stale air out of my lungs。 this morning when i went there； peter was busy cleaning up。 he finished quickly and came over to where i was sitting on
my favorite spot on the floor。 the two of us looked out at the blue sky； the bare chestnut tree glistening with dew； the seagulls and other birds glinting with silver as they swooped through the air； and we were so moved and entranced that we couldnt speak。 he stood with his head against a thick beam； while i sat。 we breathed in the air； looked outside and both felt that the spell shouldnt be broken with words。 we remained like this for a long while； and by the time he had to go to the loft to chop wood； i knew he was a good； decent boy。 he climbed the ladder to the loft； and i followed； during the fi