The Diary of Anne Frank by Anne Frank

My dearest Kitty, My head's in a whirl, I really don't know where to begin. Thursday (the last time I wrote to you) everything was as usual. Friday afternoon (Good Friday) we played Monopoly; Saturday afternoon too. The days passed very quickly. At about two o'clock on Saturday, heavy firing 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 front attic, where we stayed until six. There was a beautiful 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 couldn't take his bath, because the tub was down in the office kitchen, filled with dirty clothes. The two of us went to the front attic together, and in order to be able to sit comfortably, I took along the only cushion I could find in my room. We seated ourselves on a packing case. Since both the case and the cushion were very narrow, we were sitting quite close, leaning against two other cases; Mouschi kept us company, so we weren't without a chaperon. Suddenly, at quarter to nine, Mr van Daan whistled and asked if we had Mr Dussel's cushion. We jumped up and went downstairs with the cushion, the cat and Mr van Daan. This cushion was the source of much misery. Dussel was angry because I'd 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 and sit in his room. We had a really good laugh at this little intermezzo.