they'd never understand that we're content just to sit beside each other and not say a word.
They have no idea of what draws us together! Oh, when will we overcome all these difficulties?
And yet it's good that we have to surmount them, since it makes the end that much more beautiful.
When he lays his head on his arms and closes his eyes, he's still a child; when he plays with Mouschi or talks about her, he's loving;
when he carries the potatoes or other heavy loads, he's strong; when he goes to watch the gunfire or walks through the dark house, he's brave;
and when he's so awkward and clumsy, he's hopelessly endearing. It's much nicer when he explains something to me than when I have to teach him.
I wish he were superior to me in nearly every way! What do we care about our two mothers? Oh, if only he'd say something.
Father always says I'm conceited, but I'm not, I'm merely vain! I haven't had many people tell me I was pretty,
except for a boy at school who said I looked so cute when I smiled. Yesterday Peter paid me a true compliment,
and just for fun I'll give you a rough idea of our conversation. Peter often says, “Smile!”
I thought it was strange, so yesterday I asked him, “Why do you always want me to smile?”
“Because you get dimples in your cheeks. How do you do that?” “I was born with them. There's also one in my chin.”
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