“Oh, Frieda!” said the Superintendent without showing any surprise. “I know. But Frieda would follow you anywhere. As for the rest of what you said, some consideration will be necessary and I’ll communicate with the Castle about it. If a decision should be come to, or if it should be necessary first to interrogate you again, I’ll send for you. Is that agreeable to you?”
“No, absolutely,” said K. “I don’t want any act of favour from the Castle, but my rights.”
“Mizzi,” the Superintendent said to his wife, who still sat pressed against him, and lost in a daydream was playing with Klamm’s letter, which she had folded into the shape of a little boat— K. snatched it from her in alarm. “Mizzi, my foot is beginning to throb again, we must renew the compress.”
K. got up. “Then I’ll take my leave,” he said. “Hm,” said Mizzi, who was already preparing a poultice, “the last one was drawing too strongly.” K. turned away. At his last words the assistants with their usual misplaced zeal to be useful had thrown open both wings of the door. To protect the sickroom from the strong draught of cold air which was rushing in, K. had to be content with making the Superintendent a hasty bow. Then, pushing the assistants in front of him, he rushed out of the room and quickly closed the door.