"He's very particular to wash himself to the waist, but below he thinks doesn't matter.

But there, I suppose they see plenty like it." Paul had laid the table.

He cut his mother one or two pieces of very thin bread and butter.
"Here you are," he said, putting her cup of tea in her place.
"I can't be bothered!" she exclaimed crossly.
"Well, you've got to, so there, now it's put out ready," he insisted.
So she sat down and sipped her tea, and ate a little, in silence.

She was thinking.
In a few minutes she was gone, to walk the two and a half miles to Keston Station.

All the things she was taking him she had in her bulging string bag.