The wine was red wine, and had stained the ground of the narrow street in the suburb of Saint Antoine, in Paris, where it was spilled. It had stained many hands, too, and many faces, and many naked feet, and many wooden shoes. The hands of the man who sawed the wood, left red marks on the billets; and the forehead of the woman who nursed her baby, was stained with the stain of the old rag she wound about her head again. Those who had been greedy with the staves of the cask, had acquired a tigerish smear about the mouth; and one tall joker so besmirched, his head more out of a long squalid bag of a nightcap than in it, scrawled upon a wall with his finger dipped in muddy wine-lees—blood
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pia
Through a description of the environment, the scene of red blood on the street after the red wine spilled gives readers a sense of chilling. As if the streets are full of people walking dead, busy every day only to save their lives. At the same time, the author also alludes to a certain extent to the bloody events that occurred later in St. Anthony's District.