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安妮日记英文版_安妮·弗兰克-第58章

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 back into bed。 it was over!

and now its really over。 i finally realized that i must do my schoolwork to keep from being ignorant; to get on in life; to bee a journalist; because thats what i want! i know i can write。 a few of my stories are good; my descriptions of the secret annex are humorous; much of my diary is vivid and alive; but。 。 。 it remains to be seen whether i really have talent。

〃evas dream〃 is my best fairy tale; and the odd thing is that i dont have the faintest idea where it came from。 parts of 〃cadys life〃 are also good; but as a whole its nothing special。 im my best and harshest critic。 i know whats good and what isnt。

unless you write yourself; you cant know how wonderful it is; i always used to bemoan the fact that i couldnt draw; but now im overjoyed that at least i can write。

and if i dont have the talent to write books or newspaper articles; i can always write for myself。 but i want to achieve more than that。 i cant imagine having to live like mother; mrs。 van daan and all the women who go about their work and are then forgotten。 i need to have something besides a husband and children to devote myself to! i dont want to have lived in vain like most people。 i want to be useful or bring enjoyment to all people; even those ive never met。 i want to go on living even after my death! and thats why im so grateful to god for having given me this gift; which i can use to develop myself and to express all thats inside me!

when i write i can shake off all my cares。 my sor… row disappears; my spirits are

revived! but; and thats a big question; will i ever be able to write something great; will i ever bee a journalist or a writer?

i hope so; oh; i hope so very much; because writing allows me to record everything; all my thoughts; ideals and fantasies。

i havent worked on 〃cadys life〃 for ages。 in my mind ive worked out exactly what happens next; but the story doesnt seem to be ing along very well。 i might never finish it; and itll wind up in the wastepaper basket or the stove。 thats a horrible thought; but then i say to myself; 〃at the age of fourteen and with so little experience; you cant write about philosophy。鈥

so onward and upward; with renewed spirits。 itll all work out; because im determined to write!

yours; anne 

m。 frank

thursday; april 6; 1944

dearest kitty;

you asked me what my hobbies and interests are and id like to answer; but id better warn you; i have lots of them; so dont be surprised。

first of all: writing; but i dont really think of that as a hobby。

number two: genealogical charts。 im looking in every newspaper; book and document i can find for the family trees of the french; german; spanish; english; austrian; russian; norwegian and dutch royal famthes。 ive made great progress with many of them; because for ! a long time ive been taking notes while reading biogra… i; phies or history books。 i even copy out many of the passages on history。

so my third hobby is history; and fathers already bought me numerous books。 i can hardly wait for the day when ill be able to go to the public library and ferret out iii the information i need。

number four is greek and roman mythology。 i have various books on this subject too。

i can name the nine muses and the seven loves of zeus。 i have the wives of hercules; etc。; etc。; down pat。

my other hobbies are movie stars and family photographs。 im crazy about reading and

books。 i adore the history of the arts; especially when it concerns writers; poets and painters; musicians may e later。 i loathe algebra; geometry and arithmetic。 i enjoy all my other school subjects; but historys my favorite!

yours; anne 

m。 frank

tuesday; april 11; 1944

my dearest kitty;

my heads in a whirl; i really dont know where to begin。 thursday (the last time i wrote you) everything was as usual。 friday afternoon (good friday) we played monopoly; saturday afternoon too。 the days passed very quickly。 around two oclock on saturday; heavy firing ii began…machine guns; according to the men。 for the rest; everything was quiet。

sunday afternoon peter came to see me at four…thirty; at my invitation。 at five…fifteen we went to the ii front attic; where we stayed until six。 there was a beautil ful mozart concert on the radio from six to seven…fifteen; i especially enjoyed the kleine nachtmusik。 i can hardly bear to listen in the kitchen; since beautiful music stirs me to the very depths of my soul。 sunday evening peter couldnt take his balli; because the washtub was down in the office kitchen; filled with laundry。 the two of us went to the front attic together; and in order to be able to sit fortably; i took along the only cushion i could find in my room。 we seated ourselves on a packing crate。 since both the crate and the cushion were very narrow; we were sitting quite close; leaning against two other crates; mouschi kept us pany; so we werent without a chaperon。 suddenly; at a quarter to nine; mr。 van daan whistled and asked if we had mr。 dussels cushion。 we jumped up and went downstairs willi the cushion; the cat and mr。 van daan。 this cushion was the source of much misery。 dussel was angry because id taken the one he uses as a pillow; and he was afraid it might be covered with fleas; he had the entire house in an uproar because of this one cushion。 in revenge; peter and i stuck two hard brushes in his bed; but had to take them out again when dussel unexpectedly decided to go sit in his room。 we had a really good laugh at this little intermezzo。

but our fun was short…lived。 at nine…thirty peter knocked gently on the door and asked father to e upstairs and help him with a difficult english sentence。

〃that sounds fishy;〃 i said to margot。 〃its obviously a pretext。 you can tell by the way the men are talking that theres been a break…in!〃 i was right。 the warehouse was being broken into at that very moment。 father; mr。 van daan and peter were

downstairs in a flash。 margot; mother; mrs。 van d。 and i waited。 four frightened women need to talk; so thats what we did until we heard a bang downstairs。 after that all was quiet。 the clock struck quarter to ten。 the color had drained from our faces; but we remained calm; even though we were afraid。 where were the men? what was that bang? were they fighting with the burglars? we were too scared to think; all we could do was wait。

ten oclock; footsteps on the stairs。 father; pale and nervous; came inside; followed by mr。 van daan。 〃lights out; tiptoe upstairs; were expecting the police!〃 there wasnt time to be scared。 the lights were switched off; i grabbed a jacket; and we sat down upstairs。

〃what happened? tell us quickly!鈥

there was no one to tell us; the men had gone back downstairs。 the four of them didnt e back up until ten past ten。 two of them kept watch at peters open window。 the door to the landing was locked; the book… case shut。 we draped a sweater over our night…light; and then they told us what had happened:

peter was on the landing when he heard two loud bangs。 he went downstairs and saw that a large panel was missing from the left half of the warehouse door。 he dashed upstairs; alerted the 〃home guard;〃 and the four of them went downstairs。 when the
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