crusts simmer as long as possible on a neighbor's fire. On the days when
she was really hungry, she searched about with the dogs, to see what
might be lying outside the tradespeople's doors before the dustmen went
by; and thus at times she came across rich men's food, rotten melons,
stinking mackerel and chops, which she carefully inspected for fear of
maggots.

Yes, she had come to this. The idea may be a repugnant one to
delicate-minded folks, but if they hadn't chewed anything for three days
running, we should hardly see them quarreling with their stomachs; they
would go down on all fours and eat filth like other people. Ah! the
death of the poor, the empty entrails, howling hunger, the animal
appetite that leads one with chattering teeth to fill one's stomach with
beastly refuse in this great Paris, so bright and golden! And to think
that Gervaise used to fill her belly with fat goose! Now the thought
of it brought tears to her eyes. One day, when Coupeau bagged two bread
tickets from her to go and sell them and get some liquor, she nearly
killed him with the blow of a shovel, so hungered and so enraged was she
by this theft of a bit of bread.

However, after a long contemplation of the pale sky, she had fallen into
a painful doze. She dreamt that the snow-laden sky was falling on her,
so cruelly did the cold pinch. Suddenly she sprang to her feet, awakened
with a start by a shudder of anguish. _Mon Dieu!_ was she going to die?
Shivering and haggard she perceived that it was still daylight. Wouldn't
the night ever come? How long the time seems when the stomach is empty!
Hers was waking up in its turn and beginning to torture her. Sinking
down on the chair, with her head bent and her hands between her legs to
warm them, she began to think what they would have for dinner as soon
as Coupeau brought the money home: a loaf, a quart of wine and two
platefuls of tripe in the Lyonnaise fashion. Three o'clock struck by
father Bazouge's clock. Yes, it was only three o'clock. Then she began
to cry. She would never have strength enough to wait until seven. Her
body swayed backwards and forwards, she oscillated like a child nursing
some sharp pain, bending herself double and crushing her stomach so as
not to feel it. Ah! an accouchement is less painful than hunger! And
unable to ease herself, seized with rage, she rose and stamped about,
hoping to send her hunger to sleep by walking it to and fro like an
infant. For half an hou