had thrown one arm over the backrest of the chair.

In one corner of the room there were three young people looking at the photographs belonging to Miss B�rstner that had been put into a piece of fabric on the wall. Hung up on the handle of the open window was a white blouse.

At the window across the street, there was the old pair again, although now their number had increased, as behind them, and far taller than they were, stood a man with an open shirt that showed his chest and a reddish goatee beard which he squeezed and twisted with his fingers. “Josef K.?” asked the supervisor, perhaps merely to attract K.'s attention as he looked round the room. K. nodded. “I daresay you were quite surprised by all that's been taking place this morning,” said the supervisor