Their faces were lit up and their spirits enlivened by the fight between Gervaise and Virginie.
The long lines of tubs were astir again with the fury of thrashing arms, of craggy profiles, of marionettes with bent backs and slumping shoulders that twisted and jerked violently as though on hinges.
Conversations went on from one end to the other in loud voices.

Laughter and coarse remarks crackled through the ceaseless gurgling of the water.
Faucets were sputtering, buckets spilling, rivulets flowing underneath the rows of washboards.

Throughout the huge shed rising wisps of steam reflected a reddish tint, pierced here and there by disks of sunlight, golden globes that had leaked through holes in the awnings.

The air was stiflingly warm and odorous with soap.
Suddenly the hall was filled with a white mist.

The huge copper lid of the lye-water kettle was rising mechanically along a notched shaft, and from the gaping copper hollow within its wall of bricks came whirling clouds of vapor.