Madame Beattie was a familiar name to them, but they had never heard she was a harpy.
It was also the day of the man behind the bar, of the gambler, of the harpy.
“Harpy it might have been, but happy it was not,” he answered with a groan.
Their hands, when they possessed them, were like harpy claws.
One is bound to be courteous to a lady, even though that lady be a harpy.