Mother Coupeau's disclosures and the things his mother had been saying seemed to have knocked all the life out of his limbs.

His eyes were red and swollen, his beautiful yellow beard was still wet.

In the first moment of rage he must have punched away at his pillow with his terrible fists, for the ticking was split and the feathers were coming out.
"Listen, mamma's wrong," said he to the laundress in a voice that was scarcely audible.

"You owe me nothing.

I won't have it mentioned again." He had raised himself up and was looking at her.