<h2>I</h2>
<p>One morning, as Gregor Samsa was waking up from anxious dreams, he discovered that in
bed he had been changed into a monstrous verminous bug. He lay on his armour-hard back and
saw, as he lifted his head up a little, his brown, arched abdomen divided up into rigid
bow-like sections. From this height the blanket, just about ready to slide off completely,
could hardly stay in place. His numerous legs, pitifully thin in comparison to the rest of
his circumference, flickered helplessly before his eyes.</p>
<p>What’s happened to me, he thought. It was no dream. His room, a proper room for a human
being, only somewhat too small, lay quietly between the four well-known walls. Above the
table, on which an unpacked collection of sample cloth goods was spread out (Samsa was a
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<h1>Metamorphosis</h1>
traveling salesman) hung the picture which he had cut out of an illustrated magazine a
little while ago and set in a pretty gilt frame. It was a picture of a woman with a fur hat
and a fur boa. She sat erect there, lifting up in the direction of the viewer a solid fur
muff into which her entire forearm disappeared.</p>
<p>Gregor’s glance then turned to the window. The dreary weather (the rain drops were
falling audibly down on the metal window ledge) made him quite melancholy. ‘Why don’t I
keep sleeping for a little while longer and forget all this foolishness,’ he thought. But
this was entirely impractical, for he was used to sleeping on his right side, and in his
present state he couldn’t get himself into this position. No matter how hard he threw
himself onto his right side, he always rolled again onto his back. He must have tried it a
hundred times, closing his eyes, so that he would not have to see the wriggling legs, and
gave up only when he began to feel a light, dull pain in his side which he had never felt
before.</p>
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