The atmosphere was stifling.

The shop door was thrown wide open, but not a breath of air entered; the clothes which were hung up on brass wires to dry, steamed and became as stiff as shavings in less than three quarters of an hour.

For some little while past an oppressive silence had reigned in that furnace-like heat, interrupted only by the smothered sound of the banging down of the irons on the thick blanket covered with calico.
"Ah, well!" said Gervaise, "it's enough to melt one! We might have to take off our chemises." She was sitting on the floor, in front of a basin, starching some things.

Her sleeves were rolled up and her camisole was slipping down her shoulders.

Little curls of golden hair stuck were stuck to her skin by perspiration.