Frequently there was not even enough work for the two of them and they sat on stools all afternoon doing nothing.
Whilst idleness and poverty entered, dirtiness naturally entered also.
One would never have recognised that beautiful blue shop, the color of heaven, which had once been Gervaise's pride.

Its window-frames and panes, which were never washed, were covered from top to bottom with the splashes of the passing vehicles.

On the brass rods in the windows were displayed three grey rags left by customers who had died in the hospital.

And inside it was more pitiable still; the dampness of the clothes hung up at the ceiling to dry had loosed all the wallpaper; the Pompadour chintz hung in strips like cobwebs covered with dust; the big stove, broken and in holes from the rough use of the poker, looked in its corner like the stock in trade of a dealer in old iron; the work-table appeared as though it had been used by a regiment, covered as it was with wine and coffee stains, sticky with jam, greasy from spilled gravy.
Gervaise was so at ease among it all that she never even noticed the shop was getting filthy.

She became used to it all, just as she got used to wearing torn skirts and no longer washing herself carefully.