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van daan would start to cry； so she decided it was better not to say any more。 but we bombarded mr。 dussel with questions； and the stories he had to tell were so gruesome and dreadful that we cant get them out of our heads。 once weve had time to digest the news； well probably go back to our usual joking and teasing。 it wont do us or those outside any good if we continue to be as gloomy as we are now。 and what would be the point of turning the secret annex into a melancholy annex？
no matter what im doing； i cant help thinking about those who are gone。 i catch myself laughing and remember that its a disgrace to be so cheerful。 but am i supposed to spend the whole day crying？ no； i cant do that。 this gloom will pass。
added to this misery theres another； but of a more personal nature； and it pales in parison to the suffering ive just told you about。 still； i cant help telling you that lately ive begun to feel deserted。 im surrounded by too great a void。 i never used to give it much thought； since my mind was filled with my friends and having a good time。 now i think either about unhappy things or about myself。 its taken a while； but ive finally realized that father； no matter how kind he may be； cant take the place of my former world。 when it es to my feelings； mother and margot ceased to count long ago。
but why do i bother you with this foolishness？ im terribly ungrateful； kitty； i know； but when ive been scolded for the umpteenth time and have all these other woes to think about as well； my head begins to reel！
yours； anne
saturday； november 2g； 1942
dearest kitty；
weve been using too much electricity and have now exceeded our ration。 the result：
excessive economy and the prospect of having the electricity cut off。 no light for fourteen days； thats a pleasant thought； isnt it？ but who knows； maybe it wont be so long！ its too dark to read after four or four…thirty； so we while away the time with all kinds of crazy activities： telling riddles； doing calisthenics in the dark； speaking english or french； reviewing books after a while everything gets boring。 yesterday i discovered a new pastime： using a good pair of binoculars to peek into the lighted rooms of the neighbors。 during the day our curtains cant be opened； not even an inch； but theres no harm when its so dark。
i never knew that neighbors could be so interesting。 ours are； at any rate。 ive e across a few at dinner； one family making home movies and the dentist across the way working on a frightened old lady。
mr。 dussel； the man who was said to get along so well with children and to absolutely adore them； has turned out to be an old…fashioned disciplinarian and preacher of unbearably long sermons on manners。 since i have the singular pleasure （！） of sharing my far too narrow room with his excellency； and since im generally considered to be the worst behaved of the three young people； its all i can do to avoid having the same old scoldings and admonitions repeatedly flung at my head and to pretend not to hear。 this wouldnt be so bad if mr。 dussel werent such a tattletale and hadnt singled out mother to be the recipient of his reports。 if mr。 dussels just read me the riot act； mother lectures me all over again； this time throwing the whole book at me。
and if im really lucky； mrs。 van d。 calls me to account five minutes later and lays down the law as well！
really； its not easy being the badly brought…up center of attention of a family of nitpickers。
in bed at night； as i ponder my many sins and exaggerated shortings； i get so confused by the sheer amount of things i have to consider that i either laugh or cry； depending on my mood。 then i fall asleep with the strange feeling of wanting to be different than i am or being different than i want to be； or perhaps of behaving differently than i am or want to be。
oh dear； now im confusing you too。 forgive me； but i dont like crossing things out； and in these times of scarcity； tossing away a piece of paper is clearly taboo。 so i can only advise you not to reread the above passage and to make no attempt to get to the bottom of it； because youll never find your way out again！
yours； anne
w w w。x iaoshu otx t。c o m
DECEMBER； 1942
灏彙ｈ。t｜xt。澶�
monday； december 7； 1942
dearest kitty；
hanukkah and st。 nicholas day nearly coincided this year； they were only one day apart。 we didnt make much of a fuss with hanukkah； merely exchanging a few small gifts and lighting the candles。 since candles are in short supply； we lit them for only ten minutes； but as long as we sing the song； that doesnt matter。 mr。 van daan made a menorah out of wood； so that was taken care of too。
st。 nicholas day on saturday was much more fun。 during dinner bep and miep were so busy whispering to father that our curiosity was aroused and we suspected they were up to something。 sure enough； at eight oclock we all trooped downstairs through the hall in pitch darkness （it gave me the shivers； and i wished i was safely back upstairs！） to the alcove。 we could switch on the light； since this room doesnt have any windows。 when that was done； father opened the big cabinet。
〃oh； how wonderful！〃 we all cried。
in the corner was a large basket decorated with colorful paper and a mask of black peter。
we quickly took the basket upstairs with us。 inside was a little gift for everyone； including an appropriate verse。 since youre famthar with the kinds of poems peo ple write each other on st。 nicholas day； i wont copy them down for you。
i received a kewpie doll； father got bookends； and so on。 well anyway； it was a nice idea； and since the eight of us had never celebrated st。 nicholas day before； this was a good time to begin。
yours； anne
ps。 we also had presents for everyone downstairs； a few things 。left over from the good old days； plus miep and bep are always grateful for money。
today we heard that mr。 van daan s ashtray； mr。 dussels picture frame and fathers bookends were made by none other than mr。 voskuijl。 how anyone can be so clever with his hands is a mystery to me！
thursday； december 10； 1942
dearest kitty；
mr。 van daan used to be in the meat； sausage and spice busines