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He was still hurriedly thinking all this through, unable to

decide to get out of the bed, when the clock struck quarter to

seven. There was a cautious knock at the door near his head.

"Gregor", somebody called-it was his mother-"it's quarter to

seven. Didn't you want to go somewhere?" That gentle voice!

Gregor was shocked when he heard his own voice answering, it

could hardly be recognised as the voice he had had before. As if

from deep inside him, there was a painful and uncontrollable

squeaking mixed in with it, the words could be made out at first

but then there was a sort of echo which made them unclear,

leaving the hearer unsure whether he had heard properly or not.