One morning, when Gregor Samsa woke from troubled dreams, he found himself transformed in his bed into a horrible vermin. He lay on his armour-like back, and if he lifted his head a little he could see his brown belly, slightly domed and divided by arches into stiff sections.
His many legs, pitifully thin compared with the size of the rest of him, waved about helplessly as he looked. «What’s happened to me? » he thought. It wasn’t a dream.
His room, a proper human room although a little too small, lay peacefully between its four familiar walls. A collection of textile samples lay spread out on the table — muff that covered the whole of her lower arm towards the viewer.
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