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II

           

           ButGrete’swordshadmadehermotherquiteworried,shesteppedtooneside,sawtheenormousbrownpatchagainsttheflowersofthewallpaper,andbeforesheevenrealiseditwasGregorthatshesawscreamed:“OhGod,ohGod!”Armsoutstretched,shefellontothecouchasifshehadgivenupeverythingandstayedthereimmobile.“Gregor!”shoutedhissister,gloweringathimandshakingherfist.Thatwasthefirstwordshehadspokentohimdirectlysincehistransformation.Sheranintotheotherroomtofetchsomekindofsmellingsaltstobringhermotheroutofherfaint;Gregorwantedtohelptoo—hecouldsavehispicturelater,althoughhestuckfasttotheglassandhadtopullhimselfoffbyforce;thenhe,too,ranintothenextroomasifhecouldadvisehissisterlikeintheolddays;buthehadtojuststandbehindherdoingnothing;shewaslookingintovariousbottles,hestartledherwhensheturnedround;abottlefelltothegroundandbroke;asplintercutGregor’sface,somekindofcausticmedicinesplashedalloverhim;now,withoutdelayinganylonger,Gretetookholdofallthebottlesshecouldandranwiththemintohermother;sheslammedthedoorshutwithherfoot.

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