“Beaming, she declared, “What a delightful day! We shall dine downstairs tonight. The Clarendon is the only hotel in London where you can find a genuine French dinner.” Only half listening, Lucinda settled into an identical chair across. “I have heard of their cook, Jacquiers,” she responded listlessly. Since Hatchards, her thoughts had been in a turmoil and she couldn’t concentrate on anything. “I’m sure he’ll outdo himself again,” replied Lady Perry. She picked up a satirical print by ...Gillray which she’d just purchased at Mrs. Humphrie’s Print Shop in St. James Street. It was of the Whig politician, Charles James Foxby, and she considered it a real find. “Isn’t this hilarious? Though I had best not hang it in any prominent spot at home.” Lucinda glanced at the caricature of a man in ragged French sansculottes whose face was unshaven and hairy and whose gaiety suggested drunkenness. “It surely is hilarious,”MoreLessRead More Read Less
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