"Ah, yes; you mean Nana.

No, nothing else.

What a tempting mouth she has, the little hussy! Real strawberry jam!" Gervaise went off with her thirty sous in her hand.

The holes in her shoes spat water forth like pumps; they were real musical shoes, and played a tune as they left moist traces of their broad soles along the pavement.
In the neighborhood the feminine tipplers of her own class now related that she drank to console herself for her daughter's misconduct.

She herself, when she gulped down her dram of spirits on the counter, assumed a dramatic air, and tossed the liquor into her mouth, wishing it would "do" for her.