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Paul T. Hornak has written for, among others, Reason and The New York Times. He lives in Georgia.
Come down the Danube through a "painters' paradise" of low hills, past a "bosky island," around a bend where suddenly the spires and parapets and bustling quays spread before you "in a pearly, blue-gray light."
John Randolph (1773-1833) survives in America's footnotes as a colorful contrarian, and the Gore Vidal school of historiography pants at his duel with Henry Clay and his taste for opium.
Going by the tide and subtitle alone, it would appear that this is either a book about the lies rich people tell each other, or a book transforming the jingle of coins into the crash of magical cymbals.
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