When they had
finished, they went out and drove about the greater part of the evening
looking for another hotel, whose first requisite should be that it was
not on Unter den Linden. What mainly determined Mrs. March in favor of
the large, handsome, impersonal place they fixed upon was the fact that
it was equipped for steam-heating; what determined March was the fact
that it had a passenger-office where when he wished to leave, he could
buy his railroad tickets and have his baggage checked without the
maddening anxiety, of doing it at the station. But it was precisely in
these points that the hotel which admirably fulfilled its other functions
fell short. The weather made a succession of efforts throughout their
stay to clear up cold; it merely grew colder without clearing up, but
this seemed to offer no suggestion of steam for heating their bleak
apartment and the chilly corridors to the management. With the help of a
large lamp which they kept burning night and day they got the temperature
of their rooms up to sixty; there was neither stove nor fireplace, the
cold electric bulbs diffused a frosty glare; and in the vast, stately
dining-room with its vaulted roof, there was nothing to warm them but
their plates, and the handles of their knives and forks, which, by a
mysterious inspiration, were always hot.
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