In any case, he's a nice boy, and you have no idea how good it is to talk to him!
Mrs. van D. thinks it's all right for me to talk to Peter, but today she asked me teasingly, “Can I trust you two up there?”
“Of course,” I protested. “I take that as an insult!” Morning, noon and night, I look forward to seeing Peter. Yours, Anne M. Frank
P.S. Before I forget, last night everything was blanketed in snow. Now it's thawed and there's almost nothing left.
MONDAY, MARCH 6, 1944
Dearest Kitty, Ever since Peter told me about his parents, I've felt a certain sense of responsibility toward him—
don't you think that's strange? It's as though their quarrels were just as much my business as his,
and yet I don't dare bring it up anymore, because I'm afraid it makes him uncomfortable.
I wouldn't want to intrude, not for all the money in the world.
I can tell by Peter's face that he ponders things just as deeply as I do. Last night I was annoyed when Mrs. van D. scoffed, “The thinker!”
Peter flushed and looked embarrassed, and I nearly blew my top. Why don't these people keep their mouths shut?
You can't imagine what it's like to have to stand on the sidelines and see how lonely he is, without being able to do anything.
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