One morning, as Gregor Samsa was waking up from anxious dreams, he discovered that in his bed he had been changed into a monstrous verminous bug. If they were dreams, he was being chased by small, vile men who were sneering and barking and dripping bile from holes. He then realized that he was even smaller than they, and that all the margins of his bearings were locked in hopeless, oily quicksand. From a window above, a rayshaft of dim light upon his eyes descended. Into it he imagined that he climbed. As the last remnant of dream-awareness was lost, he lay upon his armour-hard back and saw, as he lifted his head up a little, his brown, arched abdomen divided 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.
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