One of the reasons (and there are many) that I adore the works of P. G. Wodehouse is that he writes stuff like this:
“‘Sir?’ said Jeeves, kind of manifesting himself. One of the rummy things about Jeeves is that, unless you watch like a hawk, you very seldom see him come into a room. He’s like one of those weird chappies in India who dissolve themselves into thin air and nip through space in a sort of disembodied way and assemble the parts again just where they want them. I’ve got a cousin who’s what they call a Theosophist, and he says he’s often nearly worked the thing himself, but couldn’t quite bring it off, probably owing to having fed in his boyhood on the flesh of animals slain in anger and pie.” (My Man Jeeves)
Bertie Wooster’s narrative voice is a marvel of delicious nonsense. It takes an agile mind to keep up with it long enough to reach the payoff, but it’s always worth it to reach the bit about pie.