What odds was it if she was slatternly, dirty, coarse?
Was there time to make herself look otherwise, and who was there to be pleased when she was all prinked out?
Surely not a great brute of a husband who bit you like a dog, and kicked and pounded you as though you were made of iron.

Ah, no, better let things go, and take it as easy as you could.

Hump your back, and it was soonest over.
The one room grew abominably dirty, reeking with the odors of cooking and of "non-poisonous" paint.

The bed was not made until late in the afternoon, sometimes not at all.

Dirty, unwashed crockery, greasy knives, sodden fragments of yesterday's meals cluttered the table, while in one corner was the heap of evil-smelling, dirty linen.