A fine source of poison, an operation which should have been hidden away in a cellar, it was so brazen and abominable! But all the same she would have liked to have poked her nose inside it, to have sniffed the odor, have tasted the filth, though the skin might have peeled off her burnt tongue like the rind off an orange.
"What's that you're drinking ?" asked she slyly of the men, her eyes lighted up by the beautiful golden color of their glasses.
"That, old woman," answered Coupeau, "is Pere Colombe's camphor.

Don't be silly now and we'll give you a taste." And when they had brought her a glass of the vitriol, the rotgut, and her jaws had contracted at the first mouthful, the zinc-worker resumed, slapping his thighs: "Ha! It tickles your gullet! Drink it off at one go.

Each glassful cheats the doctor of six francs." At the second glass Gervaise no longer felt the hunger which had been tormenting her.

Now she had made it up with Coupeau, she no longer felt angry with him for not having kept his word.

They would go to the circus some other day; it was not so funny to see jugglers galloping about on houses.