JANUARY, 1943

类别:文学名著 作者:安妮·弗兰克 本章:JANUARY, 1943

    EDNESDAY, JANUARY 13, 1943

    Dearest Kitty,

    tantly interrupted, and as a result I  been able to finishing Ive begun.

    e ime, namely, filling packages s. Mr. Kugler  been able to find anyone else to fill ts cs they

    do in prisons. Its incredibly boring and makes us dizzy and giggly.

    terrible tside. At any time of nig of to take only a knapsack and a little casorn apart; men,  ts urn from so find tians in  to Germany. Everyone is scared. Every nigo German cities, to so of t, tire  ter, t.

    As for us, e fortunate. Luckier ts quiet and safe o buy food. ere so selfis alk about quot;after t; and look foro neually we so o salvage wever we can.

    ts and ockings and no one to  to still treets to an even colder classroom. tten so bad in  op passersby in treets to beg for a piece of bread.

    I could spend elling you about t, but Id only make myself more miserable. All , as calmly as possible, for it to end. Jeing, ting, and many are ing for death.

    Yours, Anne

    SAtURDAY, JANUARY 30, 1943

    Dearest Kitty,

    Im seet I cant s. Id like to scream, stamp my foot, give Mot knoy words,

    mocking looks and accusations t s me day after day, piercing me like arroigrung bow, wo pull from my body.

    Id like to scream at Mot, too: quot;Leave me alone, let me  least one nig cry myself to sleep  me get a; But I cant do t. I cant let ts, or ted on me. I couldnt bear t  to scream even more.

    Everyone talk, ridicu lous  e more tupid, coing, etc., etc. All day long I  ing c off and pretend not to mind, I do mind. I y, one t doesnt antagonize everyone.

    But ts impossible. Im stuck er I  Im sure Im not a bad person. I do my best to please everyone, more t in a million years. airs, I try to laug off because I dont  to see my troubles.

    More ter a series of absurd reproac Mot;I dont care   to talk back and virtually ignore me for two days.

    tten and sreat me like everyone else.

    Its impossible for me to be all smiles one day and venomous t. Id rat so golden, and keep my ts to myself.

    Perime Ill treat tempt as treat me. Oh, if only I could.

    Yours, Anne


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