Prudence and William had left an inflated india-rubber sea-serpent behind them in the bathroom. Sir Samson sat in the warm water engrossed with it. He swished it down the water and caught it in his toes; he made waves for it; he blew it along; he sat on it and let it shoot up suddenly to the surface between his thighs; he squeezed some air out of it and made bubbles. Chance treats of this kind made or marred the happiness of his day. Soon he was rapt in daydream about the pleistocene age, where among mists and vast unpeopled crags schools of deep-sea monsters splashed and sported ...
—Evelyn Waugh, Black Mischief, p. 62 of 238.
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