“‘My goodness, I don’t want Pilbeam on the sick list now, of all times,’ said Lord Emsworth….
‘Why now, particularly?’ asked Lady Julia.
‘Never mind,’ said Lord Emsworth darkly.
‘I only asked,’ said Lady Julia, ‘because I, personally, consider that all times are good times for Mr Pilbeam to have headaches. Not to mention botts, glanders, quartan ague, frog in the throat and the Black Death.’
A soft, sibilant sound, like gas escaping from a pipe, came from the shadows by the sideboard. It was Beach expressing, as far as butlerine etiquette would permit him to express, his adhesion to this sentiment.
Lord Emsworth, on the other hand, showed annoyance.
‘I wish you wouldn’t say such things, Julia.’
‘On the spur of the moment, I couldn’t think of anything worse.’
‘Don’t you like Pilbeam?’
‘My dear Clarence, don’t be fantastic. Nobody likes Mr Pilbeam. There are people who do not actually put poison in his soup, but that is as far as you can go.'” (P.G. Wodehouse, Heavy Weather, Ch.13)