monday, february 28, 1944

my dearest kitty,

it's like a nightmare, one that goes on long after i'm awake. i see him nearly every hour of the day and yet i can't be with him, i can't let the others notice, and i have to pretend to be cheerful, though my heart is aching.

peter schiff and peter van daan have melted into one peter, who's good and kind and whom i long for desperately. mother's horrible, father's nice, which makes him even more exasperating, and margot's the worst, since she takes advantage of my smiling face to claim me for herself, when all i want is to be left alone.

peter didn't join me in the attic, but went up to the loft to do some carpentry work. at every rasp and bang, another chunk of my courage broke off and i was even more unhappy. in the distance a clock was tolling' 'be pure in heart, be pure in mind!"

i'm sentimental, i know. i'm despondent and foolish, i know that too.

oh, help me!

yours, anne m. fran

k