“Me too, Peter. But Father didn’t think we were serious, he thought we were just friends.”
“Do you think we still can be?” “Yes, I do. How about you?”
“Me too. I also told Father that I trust you. I do trust you, Peter, just as much as I do Father.”
“And I think you’re worthy of my trust. You are, aren’t you?”
“I hope so.” (He was very shy, and blushing.) “I believe in you, Peter,” I continued.
“I believe you have a good character and that you’ll get ahead in this world.”
After that we talked about other things. Later I said, “If we ever get out of here, I know you won’t give me another thought.”
He got all fired up. “That’s not true, Anne. Oh no, I won’t let you even think that about me!”
Just then somebody called us. Father did talk to him, he told me Monday.
“Your Father thought our friendship might turn into love,” he said. “But I told him we’d keep ourselves under control.”
Father wants me to stop going upstairs so often, but I don’t want to.
Not just because I like being with Peter, but because I’ve said I trust him.
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