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Among the standard B&Bs on the tranquil crescent of Cartwright Gardens, it rises above with a design that takes a cue from its logo: an easy chair with a pillow emblazoned with an H. All beds are piled with just such a pillow, and bedspreads match curtains in an array of purples, golds, and creams. It doesn’t hit you over the head; it’s simply all-around nice, as are the newly spruced-up bathrooms with seafoam-green tile work, slender spigots, and designer sinks. All of this tastefulness is imposed on typically small-ish London town house–hotel quarters. The staff, which serves a free full English breakfast in the ground-floor breakfast room, loans keys to the semicircular park out front, where tennis and giant trees beckon. The owner’s family has run this place for three generations (their pets, Zizi the black cat and Chiyo the pup, live on the premises) and it is attentive in a way many rivals no longer are. Around the corner is the Lord John Russell, a true local pub whose landlord refuses to extend the hours and make it a nightspot. “We’re a pub,” he sniffs. “We don’t serve past 11.”