Cabbagey

Emma had produced a cabbagey, beety soup with strips of last night's boiled beef in it, chunks of yesterday's potatoes and dumplings thrown in […]

She had awoken two hours later in the cabbagey-plasticky fug of her tent feeling deadly certain that she had failed somehow, that he had been expecting something to happen between them, and now it wouldn't happen—or couldn't happen—because she was no longer on her own.