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A Young Girl's Diary


Afternoon. I must write some more. I've had a frightful row with Dora. She says I've
been fiddling with her things. It's all because she's so untidy. As if her things could
interest me. Yesterday she left her letter to Erika lying about on the table, and all I
read was: He's as handsome as a Greek god. I don't know who "he" was for she came
in at that moment. It's probably Krail Rudi, with whom she is everlastingly playing
tennis and carries on like anything. As for handsome--well, there's no accounting for
tastes.
July 26th. It's a good thing I brought my dolls' portmanteau. Mother said: You'll be
glad to have it on rainy days. Of course I'm much too old to play with dolls, but even
though I'm 11 I can make dolls' clothes still. One learns something while one is
doing it, and when I've finished something I do enjoy it so. Mother cut me out some
things and I was tacking them together. Then Dora came into the room and said
Hullo, the child is sewing things for her dolls. What cheek, as if she had never played
with dolls. Besides, I don't really play with dolls any longer. When she sat down
beside me I sewed so vigorously that I made a great scratch on her hand, and said:
Oh, I'm so sorry, but you came too close. I hope she'll know why I really did it. Of
course she'll go and sneak to Mother. Let her. What right has she to call me child.
She's got a fine red scratch anyhow, and on her right hand where everyone can see.
July 27th. There's such a lot of fruit here. I eat raspberries and gooseberries all day
and Mother says that is why I have no appetite for dinner. But Dr. Klein always says
Fruit is so wholesome. But why should it be unwholesome all at once? Hella always
says that when one likes anything awfully much one is always scolded about it until
one gets perfectly sick of it. Hella often gets in such a temper with her mother, and
then her mother says: We make such sacrifices for our children and they reward us
with ingratitude. I should like to know what sacrifices they make. I think it's the
children who make the sacrifices. When I want to eat gooseberries and am not
allowed to, the sacrifice is mine not _Mother's_. I've written all this to Hella. Fraulein
Pruckl has written to me. The address on her letter to me was splendid, "Fraulein
Grete Lainer, Lyzealschulerin." Of course Dora had to know better than anyone else,
and said that in the higher classes from the fourth upwards (because she is in the
fourth) they write "Lyzeistin." She said: "Anyhow, in the holidays, before a girl has
attended the first class she's not a Lyzealschulerin at all." Then Father chipped in,
saying that we (I didn't begin it) really must stop this eternal wrangling; he really
could not stand it. He's quite right, but what he said won't do any good, for Dora will
go on just the same. Fraulein Pruckl wrote that she was delighted that I had written.
As soon as I have time she wants me to write to her again. Great Scott, I've always
time for her. I shall write to her again this evening after supper, so as not to keep her
waiting.
July 29th. I simply could not write yesterday. The Warths have arrived, and I had to
spend the whole day with
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Erna and Liesel, although it rained all day. We had a ripping time. They know a lot of
round games and we played for sweets. I won 47, and I gave five of them to Dora.
Robert is already more than a head taller than we are, I mean than Liesel and me; I
think he is fifteen. He says Fraulein Grete and carried my cloak which Mother sent
me because of the rain and he saw me home after supper.
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