harmost

From the moment she turned to the window at Monsieur Harmost's, she had determined to go to her father's.

And Monsieur Harmost, whose exterior covered much sensibility, stroked her hand.

She found Monsieur Harmost fidgeting up and down the room, whose opened windows could not rid it of the smell of latakia.

When she had finished, Monsieur Harmost, bending forward, lifted one of her hands and put his lips to it.

Fiorsen ran forward, stretching out his arms toward Monsieur Harmost, as if to take him by the throat.