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Arriving late at night in Rome, I was surrounded by angry and vociferous railroad officials demanding my ticket. They all searched for it in vain. Finally they allowed me to ender a hotel omnibus which was, as by some miracle, still waiting for me at the station. Already seated inside was an angry English lady. In my excitement I explained to her in French that I had lost my ticker. She snapped back that I ought to have known better.

On arriving at the hotel the manager, finding that his visitor was a young girl travelling alone began making advances. He was so persistent that it was only by menacing him with a small mother-of-pearl handled pistol which had been given to me by my brother's doctor, that I got him to leave the room. When he retreated I found that there was no key to the door; for the rest of the night I sat up in order to watch it.

Finally the morning came bringing reassurance and I decided to undress and take a much needed rest. On opening my valise, strange articles of toilet fell out. There had been an exchange of bags when the omnibus was unloaded. Unable to stand more I flung myself fully dressed on the bed and fell asleep. A few hours later I was wakened by the cameriers who came to bring me back not only my valise but also the lost ticket.

I then decided to leave the hotel at once and seek out a "Pension". As I passed through the corridor the English Lady came up to me and apologized for having been so unsympathetic the night before. She had taken me for a French girl, but having found out her mistake she wanted to offer any help I might need. I thanked her, but I knew that in the future there would be no asking for help whatever happened -- it was not my way.

I stayed at the Pension until I had chosen -- and not too judiciously -- a studio in the Via Sistine. It was on the ground floor