a little, eighteen year old schoolgirl.

“And what do you have to say about that?” asked his uncle, who had forgotten all his rush and excitement as he read the letter, and seemed to be about to read it again. “Yes, Uncle,” said K., “it is true.” “True!” called out his uncle. “What is true? How can this be true? What sort of trial is it? Not a criminal trial, I hope?” “It's a criminal trial,” answered K. “And you sit quietly here while you've got a criminal trial round your neck?” shouted his uncle, getting ever louder. “The more calm I am, the better it will be for the outcome,” said K. in a tired voice, “don't worry.” “How can I help worrying?!” shouted his uncle, “Josef, my Dear Josef, think