by Philip Wagenaar, first of four parts
A large gate filled the arch, which gave access to the hotel’s front garden.
“Would they have room for us?,” I mused.
My wife, Flory, and I had been biking from Amsterdam, Holland, to the French Riviera. It was 4 p.m. and we were tired. We had been riding since 6 a.m.
I quickly ran up the steps to the reception desk. We were in luck. They had space available. An inspection found the offered room satisfactory.
However...
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