The wood seemed to yield to the flesh with a damp sound.

At each whack a red weal marked the white skin.
"Oh, oh!" exclaimed the boy Charles, opening his eyes to their full extent and gloating over the sight.
Laughter again burst forth from the lookers-on, but soon the cry, "Enough! Enough!" recommenced.

Gervaise heard not, neither did she tire.
She examined her work, bent over it, anxious not to leave a dry place.

She wanted to see the whole of that skin beaten, covered with contusions.

And she talked, seized with a ferocious gaiety, recalling a washerwoman's song, "Bang! Bang! Margot at her tub.
Bang! Bang! Beating rub-a-dub.
Bang! Bang! Tries to wash her heart.
Bang! Bang! Black with grief to part." And then she resumed, "That's for you, that's for your sister.
That's for Lantier.
When you next see them, You can give them that.
Attention! I'm going to begin again.
That's for Lantier, that's for your sister.
That's for you.
Bang! Bang! Margot at her tub.
Bang! Bang! Beating rub-a-dub--" The others were obliged to drag Virginie away from her.