When you are dying of hunger, you don't philosophize, you eat whatever bread turns up.

She had gone along as far as the Chaussee-Clignancourt.

It seemed as if the night would never come.

However, she followed the Boulevards like a lady who is taking a stroll before dinner.

The neighborhood in which she felt so ashamed, so greatly was it being embellished, was now full of fresh air.
Lost in the crowd on the broad footway, walking past the little plane trees, Gervaise felt alone and abandoned.