When we arrived at the writer's house, we were overheated and dehydrated. Our first stop was the little restaurant, which served recipes by Tolstoy's wife, Sophia.
The bottled water we received looked normal but tasted bizarre. Our expressions confirmed we shared the experience of this 'disaster' as we tried to communicate with the waitress.
My sister and friend, both law students, couldn't help but draw parallels to the classic legal case of the decomposing snail in ginger beer.
Though we were parched after a long train ride, our trepidation from the taste of the water was greater than our thirst.
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