The smell wasn't quite so bad when you were lying on the floor, but Mrs. van Daan quietly went and got some powdered bleach
and draped a dish towel over the potty as a further precaution.
Talk, whispers, fear, stench, farting and people continually going to the bathroom; try sleeping through that!
By two-thirty, however, I was so tired I dozed off and didn't hear a thing until three-thirty.
I woke up when Mrs. van D. lay her head on my feet. “For heaven's sake, give me something to put on!” I said.
I was handed some clothes, but don't ask what: a pair of wool slacks over my pajamas,
a red sweater and a black skirt, white understockings and tattered kneesocks.
Mrs. van D. sat back down on the chair, and Mr. van D. lay down with his head on my feet.
From three-thirty onward I was engrossed in thought, and still shivering so much that Mr. van Daan couldn't sleep.
I was preparing myself for the return of the police. We'd tell them we were in hiding;
if they were good people, we'd be safe, and if they were Nazi sympathizers, we could try to bribe them!
“We should hide the radio!” moaned Mrs. van D. “Sure, in the stove,” answered Mr. van D.
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