But that'll pass. Father has taken the plays of Goethe and Schiller down from the big bookcase and is planning to read to me every evening.
We've started off with Don Carlos. Encouraged by Father's good example, Mother pressed her prayer book into my hands.
I read a few prayers in German, just to be polite.
They certainly sound beautiful, but they mean very little to me.
Why is she making me act so religious and devout? Tomorrow we're going to light the stove for the first time.
The chimney hasn't been swept in ages, so the room is bound to fill with smoke. Let's hope the thing draws! Yours, Anne
MONDAY, NOVEMBER 2, 1942
Dear Kitty, Bep stayed with us Friday evening. It was fun, but she didn't sleep very well because she'd drunk some wine.
For the rest, there's nothing special to report. I had an awful headache yesterday and went to bed early.
Margot's being exasperating again. This morning I began sorting out an index card file from the office,
because it'd fallen over and gotten all mixed up. Before long I was going nuts.
I asked Margot and Peter to help, but they were too lazy, so I put it away.
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