She felt on the verge of vomiting herself.

Coupeau, overpowered by intoxication, lying as comfortably as though on a bed of down, was sleeping off his booze, without life in his limbs, and with his mouth all on one side.

The whole street might have entered and laughed at him, without a hair of his body moving.
"Well, I can't help it," she faltered.

"It's his own fault.

_Mon Dieu!_ He's forcing me out of my own bed.