shall not see you again at such a late hour.” “That agrees with my intentions,” retorted K.
The lawyer gave him a questioning look and said: “Sit down.” “Since you ask me to,” said
K., pulling up a chair to the bedside table and seating himself. “I fancied I heard you
locking the door,” said the lawyer. “Yes,” said K., “that was because of Leni.” He was not
thinking of shielding anyone, but the lawyer went on: “Has she been pestering you again?”
“Pestering me?” asked K. “Yes,” said the lawyer, chuckling until stopped by a fit of
coughing, after which he began to chuckle once more. “I suppose you can’t have helped
noticing that she pesters you?” he asked, patting K.’s hand, which in his nervous distraction
he had put on the bedside table and now hastily withdrew. “You don’t attach much
importance to it,” went on the lawyer as K. remained silent. “So much the better. Or else I
might have had to apologize for her. It’s a peculiarity of hers, which I have long forgiven
her and which I wouldn’t mention now had it not been for your locking the door. This
peculiarity of hers, well, you’re the last person I should have to explain it to, but you’re
looking so bewildered that I feel I must, this peculiarity of hers consists in her finding
nearly all accused men attractive. She makes up to all of them, loves them all, and is
evidently also loved in return; she often tells me about these affairs to amuse me, when I
allow her. It doesn’t surprise me so much as it seems to surprise you. If you have the right
eye for these things, you can see that accused men are often attractive. It’s a remarkable
phenomenon, almost a natural law. For of course the fact of being accused makes no
alteration in a man’s appearance that is immediately obvious and recognizable. These cases
are not like ordinary criminal cases, most of the defendants continue in their usual
vocations, and if they are in the hands of a good lawyer their interests don’t suffer much.
And yet those who are experienced in such matters can pick out one after another all the
accused men in the largest of crowds. How do they know them? you will ask. I’m afraid
my answer won’t seem satisfactory. They know them because accused men are always the
most attractive. It cannot be guilt that makes them attractive, for — it behooves me to say
this as a lawyer, at least — they aren’t all guilty, and it can’t be the justice of the penance
laid on them that makes them attractive in anticipation, for they aren’t all going to be
punished, so it must be the mere charge preferred against them that in some way enhances
their attraction. Of course some are much more attractive than others. But they are all
attractive, even that wretched creature Block.”
By the time the lawyer finished this harangue K. had completely regained his
composure, he had even nodded as if in complete agreement with the last words, whereas
he was really confirming his own long-cherished opinion that the lawyer invariably
attempted, as now, to bring in irrelevant generalizations in order to distract his attention from the main question, which was: how much actual work had been achieved in
furthering the case? Presumably the lawyer felt that K. was more hostile than usual, for
now he paused to give him the chance of putting in a word, and then asked, since K.
remained silent: “Did you come here this evening for some specific reason ?” “Yes,” said
K., shading the light of the candle a little with one hand so as to see the lawyer better. “I
came to tell you that I dispense with your services as from today.” “Do I understand you
rightly?” asked the lawyer, half propping himself up in bed with one hand on the pillows.
“I expect so,” said K., sitting bolt upright as if on guard. “Well, that’s a plan we can at least
discuss,” said the lawyer after a pause. “It’s no plan, it’s a fact,” said K. “Maybe,” said the