Open fields and narrow lanes vanishing between dark walls gave it the air of a country village.

Coupeau, always amused by the infrequent pedestrians having to jump over the continuous streams of soapy water, said it reminded him of a country town where his uncle had taken him when he was five years old.

Gervaise's greatest joy was a tree growing in the courtyard to the left of their window, an acacia that stretched out a single branch and yet, with its meager foliage, lent charm to the entire street.
It was on the last day of April that Gervaise was confined.

The pains came on in the afternoon, towards four o'clock, as she was ironing a pair of curtains at Madame Fauconnier's.

She would not go home at once, but remained there wriggling about on a chair, and continuing her ironing every time the pain allowed her to do so; the curtains were wanted quickly and she obstinately made a point of finishing them.
Besides, perhaps after all it was only a colic; it would never do to be frightened by a bit of a stomach-ache.