Then they stamped about in the empty room and gave each other such drubbings as were likely to ease them of all taste for bread for good.
But Gervaise ended by not caring a fig for these thwacks, not more than she did for anything else.

Coupeau might celebrate Saint Monday for weeks altogether, go off on the spree for months at a time, come home mad with liquor, and seek to sharpen her as he said, she had grown accustomed to it, she thought him tiresome, but nothing more.

It was on these occasions that she wished him somewhere else.

Yes, somewhere, her beast of a man and the Lorilleuxs, the Boches, and the Poissons too; in fact, the whole neighborhood, which she had such contempt for.

She sent all Paris there with a gesture of supreme carelessness, and was pleased to be able to revenge herself in this style.
One could get used to almost anything, but still, it is hard to break the habit of eating.