There are only two hotels in the Atacama metropolis, the Atacama and the Ingles.
I've only run across one of his muster before—a fellow called Ingles, in South Africa.
For the man, for Ingles, Tim belonged to a primitive breed, and love was not in his heart.
Ingles procured a warrant to shoot the rest, had they not in the mean time been relieved by the country.
During the night all its rooms and ingles had been crowded with pilgrims from up the Jordan and beyond it.
This they declined, finding I was “Ingles,” too happy to think they were not in the hands of the French.
The Ingles is owned by a native who is the son of a once famous Spanish opera singer.
It is needless to say that the proprietor of the Ingles does the most business in that line because he consumes half of his sales.
They picked up their sorry crust by burning of charcoal, and carting of dead wood to farmers for to consume in their ingles.
For the man—for Ingles—Tim belonged to a primitive breed, and love was not in his heart.