November 14th. I asked the woman at the pay box, her name really is
Anastasia Klastoschek and she lives in the Phorusgasse; but the woman
didn't know how old she is. She would not tell me at first but asked why
I wanted to know and who had sent me to enquire. She wouldn't look into
the book until I told her that it was _only for myself_ that I wanted to
know. Then she looked, for I knew the number of the cloak room locker:
36, a lovely number, I like it so much. I don't really know why, but
when I hear anyone say that number it sounds to me like a squirrel
jumping about in the wood.

November 20th. It's really impossible to write every day. Mother is ill
in bed and the doctor comes every day, but I don't really know what's
the matter with her. I'm not sure whether the doctor knows exactly.
When Mother is ill everything at home is so uncomfortable and she always
says: Whatever you do don't get ill, for it's such a nuisance. But
I don't mind being ill; indeed I rather like being ill, for then
everyone's so nice, when Father comes home he comes and sits by my bed
and even _Dora_ is rather nice and does things for me; that is she _has_
to. Besides, when she had diptheria two years ago I did everything
I could for her, she nearly died, her temperature went up to 107 and
Mother was sick with crying. Father never cries. It must look funny when
a man cries. When there was all that row about Oswald he cried, I think
Father had given him a box on the ear. He said he hadn't but I think
he had; certainly he cried, though he said he didn't. After all, why
shouldn't he for he's not really grown up yet. I cry myself when I get
frightfully annoyed. Still I shouldn't cry for a box on the ear.

November 21st. In the religion lesson to-day Lisel Schrotter who is the
Herr Catechist's favourite, no we've got to call him Herr Professor,
as she is the Herr Professor's favourite, well she went to him with the