"Tinny?"
"Yes. She used to be Christina, but the inevitable happened. You couldn't not have heard her."
"I think perhaps I was asleep for a minute or two. I–I'm a bit short of sleep."
"Yes, I expect so. Are you hungry?"
"Is that just an academic question, or — or are you offering me food?"
Erica reached into the back of the car and produced half a dozen rolls, a glass of tongue, half a pound of butter, and four tomatoes.
"I've forgotten a tin opener," she said, passing him the tongue, "but if you hit the tin lid hard with a flint it will make a hole." She split a roll with a penknife produced from her pocket and began to butter it.
"Do you always carry food about with you?" he asked, doubtfully.
"Oh, always. I'm a very hungry person. Besides I'm often not home from morning till night. Here's the knife. Cut a hunk of the tongue and lay it on that." She gave him the buttered roll. "I want the knife back for the other roll."
He did as he was bidden, and she busied herself with the knife again, politely ignoring him so that he should not have to pretend to an indifference that would be difficult of achievement.