She rubbed soap into the shirt, turned it over, and soaped the other side.

Before replying to Madame Boche she grasped her beetle and began to pound away so that her shouted phrases were punctuated with loud and rhythmic thumps.
"Yes, yes, a washerwoman--When I was ten--That's twelve years ago--We used to go to the river--It smelt nicer there than it does here--You should have seen, there was a nook under the trees, with clear running water--You know, at Plassans--Don't you know Plassans ?--It's near Marseilles." "How you go at it!" exclaimed Madame Boche, amazed at the strength of her blows.

"You could flatten out a piece of iron with your little lady-like arms." The conversation continued in a very high volume.

At times, the concierge, not catching what was said, was obliged to lean forward.

All the linen was beaten, and with a will! Gervaise plunged it into the tub again, and then took it out once more, each article separately, to rub it over with soap a second time and brush it.