91/91 And Gervaise at once recognized the vitriol of l'Assommoir in the poisoned blood which paled his skin. She tried to joke and get him to bed, the same as on the days when the wine had made him merry; but he pushed her aside without opening his lips, and raised his fist in passing as he went to bed of his own accord. He made Gervaise think of the other--the drunkard who was snoring upstairs, tired out by the blows he had struck. She thought of the men she knew--of her husband, of Goujet, of Lantier--her heart breaking, despairing of ever being happy.. |