The smell of the photographer's chemicals persisted in spite of all Trina could do to combat it.

She burnt pastilles and Chinese punk, and even, as now, coffee on a shovel, all to no purpose.

Indeed, the only drawback to their delightful home was the general unpleasant smell that pervaded it--a smell that arose partly from the photographer's chemicals, partly from the cooking in the little kitchen, and partly from the ether and creosote of the dentist's "Parlors." As McTeague came in to lunch on this occasion, he found the table already laid, a red cloth figured with white flowers was spread, and as he took his seat his wife put down the shovel on a chair and brought in the stewed codfish and the pot of chocolate.

As he tucked his napkin into his enormous collar, McTeague looked vaguely about the room, rolling his eyes.
During the three years of their married life the McTeagues had made but few additions to their furniture, Trina declaring that they could not afford it.

The sitting-room could boast of but three new ornaments.