and sat at the table to clear up my writing things, but look as I might, my fountain pen was nowhere to be seen. I looked again, Margot looked, but there was not a trace of the thing. “Perhaps it fell into the stove together with the beans,” Margot suggested, “Oh no, of course not!” I answered.
When my fountain pen didn’t turn up that evening, however, we all took it that it had been burned, all the more as celluloid is terribly inflammable.
And so it was, our unhappy fears were confirmed; when Daddy did the stove the following morning the clip used for fastening was found among the ashes. Not a trace of the gold nib was found. “Must have melted and stuck to some stone or other,” Daddy thought.
I have one consolation, although a slender one: my fountain pen has been cremated, just what I want for myself later!
Yours, Anne
Wednesday, 17 November, 1943
Dear Kitty, Shattering things are happening. Diphtheria reigns in Elli’s home, so she is not allowed to come into contact with us for six weeks. It makes it very awkward over food and shopping, not to mention missing her companionship. Kleiman is still in bed and has had nothing but porridge and milk for three weeks. Kugler is frantically busy.
The Latin lessons Margot sends in are corrected by a teacher and returned, Margot writing in Elli’s name. The teacher is very nice, and witty, too. I expect he is glad to have such a clever pupil.
Mr. Dussel is very put out, none of us knows why. It began by his keeping his mouth closed upstairs, he didn’t utter a word to either Mr. or Mrs. van Daan. Everyone was struck by it, and when it lasted a couple of
