house　and　clings　to　me　as　if　it　were　going　to　drag　me　into　the　deepest　regions　of　the　underworld。　at　times　like　these；　father；　mother　and　margot　dont　matter　to　me　in　the　least。　i　wander　from　room　to　room；　climb　up　and　down　the　stairs　and　feel　like　a　songbird　whose　wings　have　been　ripped　off　and　who　keeps　hurling　itself　against　the　bars　of　its　dark　cage。　〃let　me　out；　where　theres　fresh　air　and　laughter！〃　a　voice　within　me　cries。　i　dont　even　bother　to　reply　anymore；　but　lie　down　on　the　divan。　sleep　makes　the　silence　and　the　terrible　fear　go　by　more　quickly；　helps　pass　the　time；　since　its　impossible　to　kill　it。
  yours；　anne
  w　w　w。x　iaoshu　otx　t。c　o　m
  NOVEMBER；　1943
  灏弤璇磣t。xt‘澶﹡鍫?br />
  wednesday；　november　3；　1943
  dearest　kitty；
  to　take　our　minds　off　matters　as　well　as　to　develop　them；　father　ordered　a　catalog　from　a　correspondence　school。　margot　pored　through　the　thick　brochure　three　times
  without　finding　anything　to　her　liking　and　within　her　budget。　father　was　easier　to　satisfy　and　decided　to　write　and　ask　for　a　trial　lesson　in　〃elementary　latin。〃　no　sooner　said　than　done。　the　lesson　arrived；　margot　set　to　work　enthusiastically　and　decided　to　take　the　course；　despite　the　expense。　its　much　too　hard　for　me；　though　id　really　like　to　learn　latin。
  to　give　me　a　new　project　as　well；　father　asked　mr。　kleiman　for　a　childrens　bible　so　i　could　finally　learn　something　about　the　new　testament。
  〃are　you　planning　to　give　anne　a　bible　for　hanukkah？〃　margot　asked；　somewhat　perturbed。
  〃yes。　。　。　well；　maybe　st。　nicholas　day　would　be　a　better　occasion；〃　father　replied。
  jesus　and　hanukkah　dont　exactly　go　together。
  since　the　vacuum　cleaners　broken；　i　have　to　take　an　old　brush　to　the　rug　every　night。
  the　windows　closed；　the　lights　on；　the　stoves　burning；　and　there　i　am　brushing　away　at　the　rug。　〃thats　sure　to　be　a　problem；〃　i　thought　to　myself　the　first　time。　〃therere　bound　to　be　plaints。〃　i　was　right：　mother　got　a　headache　from　the　thick　clouds　of　dust　whirling　around　the　room；　margots　new　latin　dictionary　was　caked　with　dirt；　and　rim　grumbled　that　the　floor　didnt　look　any　different　anyway。　small　thanks　for　my　pains。
  weve　decided　that　from　now　on　the　stove　is　going　to　be　lit　at　seven…thirty　on　sunday　mornings　instead　of　five…thirty。　i　think　its　risky。　what　will　the　neighbors　think　of　our　smoking　chimney？
  its　the　same　with　the　curtains。　ever　since　we　first　went　into　hiding；　theyve　been　tacked　firmly　to　the　windows。　sometimes　one　of　the　ladies　or　gentlemen　cant　resist　the　urge　to　peek　outside。　the　result：　a　storm　of　reproaches。　the　response：　〃oh；　nobody　will　notice。〃　thats　how　every　act　of　carelessness　begins　and　ends。　no　one　will　notice；　no　one　will　hear；　no　one　will　pay　the　least　bit　of　attention。　easy　to　say；　but　is　it　true？
  at　the　moment；　the　tempestuous　quarrels　have　subsided；　only　dussel　and　the　van　daans　are　still　at　loggerheads。　when　dussel　is　talking　about　mrs。　van　d。；　he　invariably　calls　her　that　old　bat〃　or　〃that　stupid　hag；〃　and　conversely；　mrs。　van　d。　refers　to　our　ever　so　learned　gentleman　as　an　〃old　maid〃　or　a　〃touchy　neurotic　spinster；　etc。
  the　pot　calling　the　kettle　black！
  yours；　anne
  monday　evening；　november　8；1943
  dearest　kitty；
  if　you　were　to　read　all　my　letters　in　one　sitting；　youd　be　struck　by　the　fact　that　they　were　written　in　a　variety　of　moods。　it　annoys　me　to　be　so　dependent　on　the　moods　here　in　the　annex；　but　im　not　the　only　one：　were　all　subject　to　them。　if　im　engrossed　in　a　book；　i　have　to　rearrange　my　thoughts　before　i　can　mingle　with　other　people；　because　otherwise　they　might　think　i　was　strange。　as　you　can　see；　im　currently　in　the　middle　of　a　depression。　i　couldnt　really　tell　you　what　set　it　off；　but　i　think　it　stems　from　my　cowardice；　which　confronts　me　at　every　turn。　this　evening；　when　bep　was　still　here；　the　doorbell　rang　long　and　loud。　i　instantly　turned　white；　my　stomach　churned；　and　my　heart　beat　wildly　　and　all　because　i　was　afraid。
  at　night　in　bed　i　see　myself　alone　in　a　dungeon；　without　father　and　mother。　or　im　roaming　the　streets；　or　the　annex　is　on　fire；　or　they　e　in　the　middle　of　the　night　to　take　us　away　and　i　crawl　under　my　bed　in　desperation。　i　see　everything　as　if　it　were　actually　taking　place。　and　to　think　it　might　all　happen　soon！
  miep　often　says　she　envies　us　because　we　have　such　peace　and　quiet　here。　that　may　be　true；　but　shes　obviously　not　thinking　about　our　fear。
  i　simply　cant　imagine　the　world　will　ever　be　normal　again　for　us。　i　do　talk　about　〃after　the　war；〃　but　its　as　if　i　were　talking　about　a　castle　in　the　air；　something　that　can　ii　never　e　true。
  i　see　the　ei　ght　of　us　in　the　annex　as　if　we　were　a　patch　of　blue　sky　surrounded　by　menacing　black　clouds。　the　perfectly　round　spot　on　which　were　standing　is　still　safe；　but　the　clouds　are　moving　in　on　us；　and　the　ring　between　us　and　the　approaching　danger　is　being　pulled　tighter　and　tighter。　were　surrounded　by　darkness　and　danger；　and　in　our　desperate　search　for　a　way　out　we　keep　bumping　into　each　other。　we　look　at　the　fighting　down　below　and　the　peace　and　beauty　up　above。　in　the　meantime；　weve　been　cut　off　by　the　dark　mass　of　clouds；　so　that　we　can　go　neither　up　nor　down。　it　looms　before　us　like　an　impenetrable　wall；　trying　to　crush　us；　but　not　yet　able　to。　i　can　only　cry　out　and　implore；　〃oh；　ring；　ring；　open　wide　and　let　us　out！鈥?br />
  yours；　anne
  thursday；　november　11；　1943
  dearest　kitty；
  i　have　a　good　title　for　this　chapter：
  ode　to　my　fountain　pen　in　memoriam　my　fountain　pen　was　always　one　of　my　most　prized　possessions；　i　valued　it　highly；　especially　because　it　had　a　thick　nib；　and　i　can　only　write　neatly　with　thick　nibs。　it　has　led　a　long　and　interesting　fountain…pen　life；　which　i　will　summarize　below。
  when　i　was　nine；　my　fountain　pen　（packed　in　cotton）　arrived　as　a　〃sample　of　no　mercial　value〃　all　the　way　from　aachen；　where　my　grandmother　（the　kindly　donor）
  used　to　live。　i　lay　in　bed　with　the　flu；　while　the　february　winds　howled　around　the　apartment　house。　this　splendid　fountain　pen　came　in　a　red　leather　case；　and　i　showed　it　to　my　girlfriends　the　first　chance　i　got。　me；　anne　frank；　the　proud　owner　of　a　fountain　pen。
  when　i　was　ten；　i　was　allowed　to　take　the　pen　to　school；　and　to　my　surprise；　the　teacher　even　let　me　write　with　it。　when　i　was　eleven；　however；　my　treasure　had　to　be　tucked　away　again；　because　my　sixth…grade　teacher　allowed　us　to　use　only　school　pens　and　inkpots。　when　i　was　twelve；　i　started　at　the　jewish　lyceum　and　my　fountain　pen　was　given　a　new　case　in　honor　of　the　occasion。　not　only　did　it　have　room　for　a　pencil；　it　also　had　a　zipper；　which　was　much　more　impressive。　when　i　was　thirteen；　the　fountain　pen　went　with　me　to　the　annex；　and　together　weve　raced　through　countless　diaries　and　positions。　id　turned　fourteen　and　my　fountain　pen　was　enjoying　the　last　year　of　its　life　with　me　when　。　。　。
  it　was　just　after　five　on　friday　afternoon。　i　came　out　of　my　room　and　was　about　to　sit　down　at　the　table　to　write　when　i　was　roughly　pushed　to　one　side　to　make　room　for　margot　and　father；　who　wanted　to　practice　their　latin。　the　fountain　pen　remained　unused　on　the　table；　while　its　owner；　sighing；　was　forced　to　make　do　with　a　very　tiny　corner　of　the　table；　where　she　began　rubbing　beans。　thats　how　we　remove　mold　from　the　beans　and　restore　them　to　their　original　state。　at　a　quarter　to　six　i　swept　the　floor；　dumped　the　dirt　into　a　news　paper；　along　with　the　rotten　beans；　and　tossed　it　into　the　stove。　a　giant　flame　shot　up；　and　i　thought　it　was　wonderful　that　the　stove；　which　had　been　gasping　its　last　breath；　had　made　such　a　miraculous　recovery。
  all　was　quiet　again。　the　latin　students　had　left；　and　i　sat　down　at　the　table　to　pick
  up　where　id　left　off。　but　no　matter　where　i　looked；　my　fountain　pen　was　nowhere　in　sight。　i　took　another　look。　margot　looked；　mother　looked；　father　looked；　dussel　looked。
  but　it　had　vanished。
  〃maybe　it　fell　in　the　stove；　along　with　the　beans！〃　margot　suggested。
  〃no；　it　couldnt　have！〃　i　replied。
  but　that　evening；　when　my　fountain　pen　still　hadnt　turned　up；　we　all　assumed　it　had　been　burned；　especially　because　celluloid　is　highly　inflammable。　our　darkest　fears　were　confirmed　the　next　day　when　father　went　to　empty　the　stove　and　discovered　the　clip；　used　to　fasten　it　to　a　pocket；　among　the　ashes。　not　a　trace　of　the　gold　nib　was　left。
  〃it　must　have　melted　into　stone；〃　father　conjectured。
  im　left　with　one　consolation；　small　though　it　may　be：　my　fountain　pen　was　cremated；　just　as　i　would　like　to　be　someday！
  yours；　anne
  wednesday；　november　17；　1943
  dearest　kitty；
  recent　events　have　the　house　rocking　on　its　foundations。　owing　to　an　outbreak　of　diphtheria　at　beps；　she　wont　be　allowed　to　e　in　contact　with　us　for　six　weeks。
  without　her；　the　cooking　and　shopping　will　be　very　difficult；　not　to　mention　how　much　well　miss　her　pany。　mr。　kleiman　is　still　in　bed　and　has　eaten　nothing　but　gruel　for　three　weeks。　mr。　kugler　is　up　to　his　neck　in　work。
  margot　sends　her　latin　lessons　to　a　teacher；　who　corrects　and　then　returns　them。
  shes　registered　under　beps　name。　the　teachers　very　nice；　and　witty　too。　i　bet　hes　glad　to　have　such　a　smart　student。
  dussel　is　in　a　turmoil　and　we　dont　know　why。　it　all　began　with