Eventually they reached the door and went out.
When they left, l'Assommoir was packed to the door, spilling its hubbub of rough voices and its heavy smell of vitriol into the street.

My-Boots could be heard railing at Pere Colombe, calling him a scoundrel and accusing him of only half filling his glass.

He didn't have to come in here.

He'd never come back.

He suggested to his comrades a place near the Barriere Saint-Denis where you drank good stuff straight.
"Ah," sighed Gervaise when they reached the sidewalk.