The good-for-nothing Clemence, who led riots in low dancing establishments, and shrieked like a screech-owl at work, always saddened everyone with her thoughts of death.

Gervaise knew her well, and so merely said: "You're never very gay the morning after a night of high living." The truth was that Gervaise did not like this talk about women fighting.
Because of the flogging at the wash-house it annoyed her whenever anyone spoke before her and Virginie of kicks with wooden shoes and of slaps in the face.

It so happened, too, that Virginie was looking at her and smiling.
"By the way," she said quietly, "yesterday I saw some hair-pulling.

They almost tore each other to pieces." "Who were they ?" Madame Putois inquired.
"The midwife and her maid, you know, a little blonde.

What a pest the girl is! She was yelling at her employer that she had got rid of a child for the fruit woman and that she was going to tell the police if she wasn't paid to keep quiet.