With this little man, rage blew like a tempest.
"Yes, yes, of every man who frequents the restaurant!" repeated the young woman.

"Madame Boche intends to give them notice, she and her long stick of a sister, because they've always a string of men after them on the staircase." Lantier raised his fists; then, resisting the desire of striking her, he seized hold of her by the arms, shook her violently and sent her sprawling upon the bed of the children, who recommenced crying.

And he lay down again, mumbling, like a man resolving on something that he previously hesitated to do: "You don't know what you've done, Gervaise.

You've made a big mistake; you'll see." For an instant the children continued sobbing.

Their mother, who remained bending over the bed, held them both in her embrace, and kept repeating the same words in a monotonous tone of voice.
"Ah! if it weren't for you! My poor little ones! If it weren't for you! If it weren't for you!" Stretched out quietly, his eyes raised to the faded strip of chintz, Lantier no longer listened, but seemed to be buried in a fixed idea.