"Palaces are costly, are
they not?"
"Oh no," he replied, with as much gravity as though he had really taken
the trip and was imparting information to a seeker after knowledge. "It
was not extravagant when you consider that anything in Venice in the way
of a habitable house is called a palace, and that there are no servants to
be tipped; that your lights, candles all, cost you first price only, and
not the profit of the landlord, plus that of the concierge, plus that of
the maid, plus several other small but aggravatingly augmentative sums
which make your hotel bills seem like highway robbery. No, living in a
palace, on the whole, is cheaper than living in a hotel; incidentals are
less numerous and not so costly; and then you are so independent. Mine was
a particularly handsome structure. I believe I have a picture of it here."
Here Bragdon fumbled in his satchel for a moment, and then dragged forth a
small unmounted photograph of a Venetian street scene, and, pointing out
an ornate structure at the left of the picture, assured me that that was
his palace, though he had forgotten the name of it.
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