We were at the entrance to an unpaved street of
squalid hovels, a street which the rain had converted into a muddy
river, so that, on quitting the vehicle, I stepped into running
water up to my ankles. Before me was a long low cabin, with a row of
four or five windows and no upper storey; a miserable hut of rubble
and plaster, stained with ancient dirt and, at this moment, looking
soaked with moisture. Above the doorway I read "Osteria Centrale";
on the bare end of the house was the prouder inscription, "Albergo
Nazionale" - the National Hotel. I am sorry to say that at the time
this touch of humour made no appeal to me; my position was no
laughing matter. Faint with hunger, I saw at once that I should have
to browse on fearsome food. I saw, too, that there was scarce a
possibility of passing the night in this place; I must drive down to
the sea-shore, and take my chance of a train which would bring me at
some time to Reggio. While I thus reflected - the water rushing
over my boots - a very ill-looking man came forth and began to
stare curiously at me. I met his eye, but he offered no greeting. A
woman joined him, and the two, quite passive, waited to discover my
intentions.
Eat I must, so I stepped forward and asked if I could have a meal.
Without stirring, the man gave a sullen assent.
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