Pere Colombe, a heavy man of forty, was serving a ten year old girl who had asked him to place four sous' worth of brandy into her cup.

A shaft of sunlight came through the entrance to warm the floor which was always damp from the smokers' spitting.

From everything, the casks, the bar, the entire room, a liquorish odor arose, an alcoholic aroma which seemed to thicken and befuddle the dust motes dancing in the sunlight.
Coupeau was making another cigarette.

He was very neat, in a short blue linen blouse and cap, and was laughing and showing his white teeth.
With a projecting under jaw and a slightly snub nose, he had handsome chestnut eyes, and the face of a jolly dog and a thorough good fellow.
His coarse curly hair stood erect.

His skin still preserved the softness of his twenty-six years.