When he opens the door he finds two men, one young and one old, both disconcertingly ordinary-looking, the kind of men who might come to tow your car or fumigate your flat. He turned back, and saw Clare’s head bobbing, sun-bleached hair plastered against her well-shaped scalp. Kosonen opened his eyes. Samsa was an older man.
“That’s how you normally see it. In his hand was a scalpel. I flung open the hatch in the gondola roof and lunged out, not waiting for Miriam or Poole. Things must get worse before they get better.
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