ot knowing what she was doing, her head wandering and so full
of disgust that she would willingly have thrown herself under the wheels
of an omnibus to have finished with her own existence.

As she hastened on, growling against cursed fate, she suddenly found
herself in front of the place where Coupeau pretended that he worked.
Her legs had taken her there, and now her stomach began singing its song
again, the complaint of hunger in ninety verses--a complaint she knew by
heart. However, if she caught Coupeau as he left, she would be able to
pounce upon the coin at once and buy some grub. A short hour's waiting
at the utmost; she could surely stay that out, though she had sucked her
thumbs since the day before.

She was at the corner of Rue de la Charbonniere and Rue de Chartres.
A chill wind was blowing and the sky was an ugly leaden grey. The
impending snow hung over the city but not a flake had fallen as yet. She
tried stamping her feet to keep warm, but soon stopped as there was no
use working up an appetite.

There was nothing amusing about. The few passers-by strode rapidly
along, wrapped up in comforters; naturally enough one does not care
to tarry when the cold is nipping at your heels. However, Gervaise
perceived four or five women who were mounting guard like herself
outside the door of the zinc-works; unfortunate creatures of
course--wives watching for the pay to prevent it going to the dram-shop.
There was a tall creature as bulky as a gendarme leaning against the
wall, ready to spring on her husband as soon as he showed himself. A
dark little woman with a delicate humble air was walking about on the
other side of the way. Another one, a fat creature, had brought her two
brats with her and was dragging them along, one on either hand, and both
of them shivering and sobbing. And all these women, Gervaise like the
others, passed and repassed, exchanging glances, but without speaking to
one another. A pleasant meeting and no mistake. They didn't need to make
friends to learn what number they lived at. They could all hang out the
same sideboard, "Misery & Co." It seemed to make one feel even colder
to see them walk about in silence, passing each other in this terrible
January weather.

However, nobody as yet left the zinc-works. But presently one workman
appeared, then two, and then three, but these were no doubt decent
fellows who took their pay home regularly, for they jerked their heads
significantly as the