Their pretty, fresh frocks would get crushed between great-coats and dirty work smocks.

In this atmosphere of wine and sweat they would laugh gaily, finding amusement in everything, blooming naturally like roses growing out of a dunghill.

The only thing that vexed them was to meet their fathers, especially when the hatter had been drinking.

So they watched and warned one another.
"Look, Nana," Pauline would suddenly cry out, "here comes father Coupeau!" "Well, he's drunk too.

Oh, dear," said Nana, greatly bothered.