me alone,” that’s what I’d like to keep crying out all the time. Who knows, the day may come when I’m left alone more than I would wish!
Yours, Anne
Monday, 14 February, 1944
Dear Kitty, On Sunday evening everyone except Pim and me was sitting beside the wireless in order to listen to the “Immortal Music of the German Masters.”
Dussel fiddled with the knobs continually. This annoyed Peter, and the others too. After restraining himself for half an hour. Peter asked somewhat irritably if the twisting and turning might stop. Dussel answered in his most hoity-toity manner, “I’m getting it all right.” Peter became angry, was rude, Mr. van Daan took his side, and Dussel had to give in. That was all.
The reason in itself was very unimportant, but Peter seems to have taken it very much to heart. In any case, when I was rummaging about in the bookcase in the attic, he came up to me and began telling me the whole story. I didn’t know anything about it, but Peter soon saw that he had found an attentive ear and got fairly into his stride.
“Yes, and you see,” he said, “I don’t easily say anything, because I know beforehand that I’ll only become tongue-tied. I begin to stutter, blush, and twist around what I want to say, until I have to break off because I simply can’t find the words. That’s what happened yesterday, I wanted to say something quite different, but once I had started, I got in a hopeless muddle and that’s frightful. I used to have a bad habit; I wish I still had it now. If I was angry with anyone, rather than argue it out I would get to work on him with my fists. I quite realise that this method doesn’t get me anywhere; and that is why I admire you. You are never at a loss for a word,
