Grubach has let me be disturbed in this way.' It immediately occurred to him that he needn't have said this out loud, and that he must to some extent have acknowledged their authority by doing so, but that didn't seem important to him at the time. 'I want to see who that is in the next room, and why it is that Mrs. The strange man could not have learned anything from it that he hadn't known already, but now he said to K., as if making his report 'It is not possible.' 'It would be the first time that's happened,' said K., as he jumped out of bed and quickly pulled on his trousers. Instead he went over to the door, opened it slightly, and said to someone who was clearly standing immediately behind it, 'He wants Anna to bring him his breakfast.' There was a little laughter in the neighbouring room, it was not clear from the sound of it whether there were several people laughing.

He tried to work out who the man actually was, first in silence, just through observation and by thinking about it, but the man didn't stay still to be looked at for very long. The man, however, ignored the question as if his arrival simply had to be accepted, and merely replied, 'You rang?' 'Anna should have brought me my breakfast,' said K.

'Who are you?' asked K., sitting half upright in his bed. He was slim but firmly built, his clothes were black and close-fitting, with many folds and pockets, buckles and buttons and a belt, all of which gave the impression of being very practical but without making it very clear what they were actually for. He had never seen the man in this house before. There was immediately a knock at the door and a man entered. waited a little while, looked from his pillow at the old woman who lived opposite and who was watching him with an inquisitiveness quite unusual for her, and finally, both hungry and disconcerted, rang the bell.

Grubach was his landlady - but today she didn't come. Every day at eight in the morning he was brought his breakfast by Mrs. Someone must have been telling lies about Josef K., he knew he had done nothing wrong but, one morning, he was arrested.

Franz kafka the process