“And now when after finishing his work in the stable the coachman walked straight across the courtyard with his slow swaying gait, closed the large gate, then came back, all this slowly and meticulously, focusing only on his own tracks in the snow, then locked the stable behind him, and all the electric lights went out — for whom should they have shone? — and only the opening above in the wooden gallery remained bright and briefly arrested one’s wandering gaze, it seemed to K. as if they had broken off all contact with him, but as if he were freer than ever and could wait as long as he wanted here in this place where he was generally not allowed, and as if he had fought for this freedom for himself in a manner nobody else could have done and as if nobody could touch him or drive him away, or even speak to him, yet — and this conviction was at least equally strong — as if there were nothing more senseless, nothing more desperate, than this freedom, this waiting, this invulnerability.”

Franz Kafka, The Castle

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