The Trial by Franz Kafka

had been meant for him. He could not answer the question.

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“What a tiresome person you are; it’s impossible to tell whether you are serious or not.” “There’s

something in that,” said K., delighted to be chatting with a pretty girl; “there’s something in that. I am

never serious, and therefore I have to make jokes do duty both for jest and earnest. But I was arrested in

earnest.”

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Instead of “local political meeting,” “Socialist meeting” was originally used.

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All K. could see was that her blouse was unbuttoned and hanging round her waist, that a man had

dragged her into a corner and was pressing her body to his, she being bare from the waist up except for

her vest.

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K. had just been going to catch hold of the woman’s hand which she was obviously if timorously

stretching out to him, when the student’s words caught his attention. He was a voluble, overbearing

young man, so that perhaps it would be possible to get more precise information from him about the

charges brought against K. And if only K. had this information then undoubtedly he could put a stop to

the whole proceedings immediately with one wave of his hand to everyone’s dismay.

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Yes, it was even certain that he would also have rejected this proposal even if it had been combined with

bribery, which would probably have offended him still more. For, as long as his case was pending, K.’s

person must surely be inviolable to all the officials connected with the case.

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Even this praise left the girl unmoved, nor did it seem to make any real impression on her when K.’s

uncle replied: “Maybe. All the same I’ll send a nurse round to you, if possible today. If she does not

prove satisfactory, you can always dismiss her; but give her trial to please me. These surroundings and

the oppressive silence you are living in are enough to finish anyone off.” “It’s not always so quiet here,”

said the lawyer; “I’ll only agree to that hospital nurse if I must.” “You must,” said K.’s uncle.

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The desk, which took up almost the whole length of the room, stood near the windows and was placed in

such a way that the lawyer had his back to the door, so that a visitor was obliged to cross the whole width

of the room like the veriest intruder before he could see the lawyer’s face, unless indeed the latter were

kind enough to turn round toward him.

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No, K. had nothing whatsoever to hope for if his trial became common knowledge. Anyone who did not

rise up as a judge to condemn him out of hand would certainly try to humiliate him at the very least, that

being now such an easy thing to do.

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It was quite dark in the room; there were probably heavy stuff curtains at the windows which allowed no

shimmer of light to shine through. Slightly stimulated because he had been running, K. automatically

took several long strides. Then he came to a halt and realized that he had no idea which part of the room

he was in. The lawyer was obviously asleep and his breathing was inaudible because it was his habit to

creep right under the feather quilt.

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. . . as if he were waiting for a sign of life from the accused. . .

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“You are not speaking frankly to me, and you never have spoken frankly to me. So that if, at least in your

own opinion, you are being misjudged, you have only yourself to blame. I am not afraid of being

misjudged, because I am being frank with you. You have pounced upon my case as if I were quite free;

and it almost seems to me now as if you had not only conducted it badly, but as if, omitting to take any

serious steps, you had also tried to conceal the state of the case from me, thus obstructing any

intervention on my part, so that one day, somewhere, in my absence, judgment will be pronounced. I do

not say that you meant to do all that. . .

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