expanse of wall. Four shops occupied the ground floor. To the right
of the entrance, a large, greasy hash house, and to the left, a coal
dealer, a notions seller, and an umbrella merchant. The building
appeared even larger than it was because it had on each side a small,
low building which seemed to lean against it for support. This immense,
squared-off building was outlined against the sky. Its unplastered side
walls were as bare as prison walls, except for rows of roughly jutting
stones which suggested jaws full of decayed teeth yawning vacantly.

Gervaise was gazing at the entrance with interest. The high, arched
doorway rose to the second floor and opened onto a deep porch, at
the end of which could be seen the pale daylight of a courtyard. This
entranceway was paved like the street, and down the center flowed a
streamlet of pink-stained water.

"Come in," said Coupeau, "no one will eat you."

Gervaise wanted to wait for him in the street. However, she could not
resist going through the porch as far as the concierge's room on the
right. And there, on the threshold, she raised her eyes. Inside, the
building was six stories high, with four identical plain walls enclosing
the broad central court. The drab walls were corroded by yellowish spots
and streaked by drippings from the roof gutters. The walls went straight
up to the eaves with no molding or ornament except the angles on the
drain pipes at each floor. Here the sink drains added their stains. The
glass window panes resembled murky water. Mattresses of checkered
blue ticking were hanging out of several windows to air. Clothes lines
stretched from other windows with family washing hanging to dry. On a
third floor line was a baby's diaper, still implanted with filth. This
crowded tenement was bursting at the seams, spilling out poverty and