close above their heads gave off little light and that may have merely created an illusion. “Open the door,” called K.'s uncle, raising his fist against it, “we are friends of Dr. Huld, the lawyer!” “Dr. Huld is ill,” whispered someone behind them. In a doorway at the far end of a narrow passage stood a man in his dressing gown, giving them this information in an extremely quiet voice. K.

's uncle, who had already been made very angry by the long wait, turned abruptly round and retorted, “Ill? You say he's ill?” and strode towards the gentleman in a way that seemed almost threatening, as if he were the illness himself. “They've opened the door for you, now,” said the gentleman, pointing at the door of the lawyer. He pulled his dressing gown together and