Слово "squalor". Англо-русский словарь Мюллера

The life of Paris had got into his bones, and he would not change it, notwithstanding its squalor, drudgery, and hardship, for any other in the world.

My ear-drums are pierced. You outwhistle—” “Orpheus.” “I was about to say a street-arab,” she concluded severely. “Poesy does not prevent one from being practical—at least it doesn’t prevent me. Mine is no futility of genius that can’t sell gems to the magazines.” He assumed a mock extravagance, and went on: “I am no attic singer, no ballroom warbler. And why? Because I am practical. Mine is no squalor of song that cannot transmute itself, with proper exchange value, into a flower-crowned cottage, a sweet mountain-meadow, a grove of redwoods, an orchard of thirty-seven trees, one long row of blackberries and two short rows of strawberries, to say nothing of a quarter of a mile of gurgling brook. I am a beauty-merchant, a trader in song, and I pursue utility, dear Madge. I sing a song, and thanks to the magazine editors I transmute my song into a waft of the west wind sighing through our redwoods, into a murmur of waters over mossy stones that sings back to me another song than the one I sang and yet the same song wonderfully—er—transmuted.” “O that all your song-transmutations were as successful!” she laughed. “Name one that wasn’t.” “Those two beautiful sonnets that you transmuted into the cow that was accounted the worst milker in the township.” “She was beautiful—” he began, “But she didn’t give milk,” Madge interrupted. “But she was beautiful, now, wasn’t she?” he insisted. “And here’s where beauty and utility fall out,” was her reply.

So strangely clouded were these refinements by the prison manners and gloom, so spectral did they become in the inappropriate squalor and misery through which they were seen, that Charles Darnay seemed to stand in a company of the dead.

They did not, of course, believe their Stanley was destined for a life of squalor and poverty, but they thought “the kids were being hasty.”

Out there in J. Grimes Everett’s land there’s nothing but sin and squalor.”

She went back to her childhood and spoke with a sort of grim humour of the squalor in which she and her parents had lived in cheap London lodgings.