There was a knocking on the door. It was an impatient knock, and it was no surprise to discover that on the end of it was the hotel owner, rushing around letting everybody know that the kitchen would be closing soon. Fortunately we were ready, for it was 9.00, the exact time we had agreed to have our breakfast during the owner’s very brief introduction the night before. Her husband was much more relaxed, and cooked a good breakfast, which we enjoyed while we listened to husband and wife arguing somewhere in the kitchen, one being too slow, the other too fast, quite possibly. As the weather had turned out so well, it almost felt a waste to be away from home and not go for a big random walk somewhere, so we arranged for Mark
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