She wouldn't have touched Coupeau for the world, and just the thought of this filthy bum touching her caused a repugnance such as she might have felt had she been required to sleep beside the corpse of someone who had died from a terrible disease.
"Oh, I must get into that bed," murmured she.

"I can't go and sleep in the street.

Oh! I'll crawl into it foot first." She tried to step over the drunkard, but had to catch hold of a corner of the chest of drawers to save herself from slipping in the mess.
Coupeau completely blocked the way to the bed.

Then, Lantier, who laughed to himself on seeing that she certainly could not sleep on her own pillow that night, took hold of her hand, saying, in a low and angry voice: "Gervaise, he is a pig." She understood what he meant and pulled her hand free.

She sighed to herself, and, in her bewilderment, addressed him familiarly, as in the old days.
"No, leave me alone, Auguste.