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"L'albergo dei gatti," says a cheery voice at my side some countryman, who has also discovered Trajan's Forum to be one of the sights of Rome. "The cats' hotel. But," he adds, "I see no restaurant attached to it." That reminds me: luncheon-time. Via Flaminia what a place for luncheon!
It was four o'clock; I felt tired and half choked with dust; the thought of rest and a meal was very pleasant. As I searched for the sign of my inn, we suddenly drew up, midway in the dark street, before a darker portal, which seemed the entrance to some dirty warehouse. The driver jumped down "Ecco l'albergo!" I had seen a good many Italian hostelries, and nourished no unreasonable expectations.
Up we went towards those ragged walls and great, vacant windows. We reached the summit; for two minutes the horses trotted; then a sudden halt, and my lad's face at the carriage door. "Ecco l'albergo, Signore!" I jumped out.
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