I've tried to find charwoman's work, but I can't get any; bad luck always follows us.

And so we are in need of everything; we've nothing but black misery, two or three days sometimes going by without a bite, so that it's like the chance life of a dog that feeds on what it can find.

And with these last two months of bitter cold to freeze us, it's sometimes made us think that one morning we should never wake up again.

But what would you have?
I've never been happy, I was beaten to begin with, and now I'm done for, left in a corner, living on, I really don't know why." Her voice had begun to tremble, her red eyes moistened, and Pierre could realise that she thus wept through life, a good enough woman but one who had no will, and was already blotted out, so to say, from existence.
"Oh! I don't complain of Salvat," she went on.

"He's a good fellow; he only dreams of everybody's happiness, and he doesn't drink, and he works when he can.