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"On the whole, seen from this distance, the castle matched K.'s expectations. It was neither an old-style knight's stronghold, nor a modern palace, but an extended complex consisting of a few two-storeyed but a great many lower buildings set close together, had you not known it was a castle, you might have taken it for a small town. K. saw only a tower, there was no telling whether it belonged to a residential building or to a church. Flocks of crows wheeled around it." [1.]
"His eyes fixed on the castle, K. walked on, nothing else concerned him. As he came closer, however, the castle disappointed him, it really was just a wretched-looking small town, a collection of rustic hovels, its only distinction being that, possibly, everything was built of stone, though the paint had peeled off long since and the stone looked as if it was crumbling away. K. had a fleeting memory of his old home town, it was scarcely inferior to this so-called castle, if K. had only been interested in sightseeing it would have been a waste of all the travelling, he would have done better to revisit his old home, where he had not been for so long." [2.]
[1. & 2.]: Franz Kafka, 'The Castle' (Trans. J.A. Underwood), London, Penguin, 1997/1926.
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