But the girl continued her remarks, thrusting the clothes sullenly about her, with complaints on the soiled caps she waved like triumphal banners of filth.

Meanwhile the heaps around Gervaise had grown higher.

Still seated on the edge of the stool, she was now disappearing between the petticoats and chemises.
In front of her were the sheets, the table cloths, a veritable mass of dirtiness.
She seemed even rosier and more languid than usual within this spreading sea of soiled laundry.

She had regained her composure, forgetting Madame Gaudron's laundry, stirring the various piles of clothing to make sure there had been no mistake in sorting.

Squint-eyed Augustine had just stuffed the stove so full of coke that its cast-iron sides were bright red.