The lamplight flecked their rosy skin with gold specks, especially Gervaise who was so pleasantly rounded.
On these nights Goujet would be overcome by the heat from the stove and the odor of linen steaming under the hot irons.

He would drift into a sort of giddiness, his thinking slowed and his eyes obsessed by these hurrying women as their naked arms moved back and forth, working far into the night to have the neighborhood's best clothes ready for Sunday.
Everything around the laundry was slumbering, settled into sleep for the night.

Midnight rang, then one o'clock, then two o'clock.

There were no vehicles or pedestrians.

In the dark and deserted street, only their shop door let out any light.