My-Boots, accompanied by his two comrades, came to lean on the railing
until they could get a place at the bar. He laughed, looking at the
machine. _Tonnerre de Dieu_, that's clever. There's enough stuff in its
big belly to last for weeks. He wouldn't mind if they just fixed the
end of the tube in his mouth, so he could feel the fiery spirits flowing
down to his heels like a river. It would be better than the tiny sips
doled out by Pere Colombe! His two comrades laughed with him, saying
that My-Boots was quite a guy after all.

The huge still continued to trickle forth its alcoholic sweat.
Eventually it would invade the bar, flow out along the outer Boulevards,
and inundate the immense expanse of Paris.

Gervaise stepped back, shivering. She tried to smile as she said:

"It's foolish, but that still and the liquor gives me the creeps."

Then, returning to the idea she nursed of a perfect happiness, she
resumed: "Now, ain't I right? It's much the nicest isn't it--to have
plenty of work, bread to eat, a home of one's own, and to be able to
bring up one's children and to die in one's bed?"

"And never to be beaten," added Coupeau gaily. "But I would never beat
you, if you would only try me, Madame Gervaise. You've no cause for
fear. I don't drink and then I love you too much. Come, shall it be
marriage? I'll get you divorced and make you my wife."

He was speaking low, whispering at the back of her neck while she made
her way through the crowd of men with her basket held before her. She
kept shaking her head "no." Yet she turned around to smile at him,