Paddled down-river for days on the ghastly Congo, with no crumpet for miles (I was promised differently by some worldly sod in a London tavern). However, just caught an eyeful of my boss Kurtz's swarthy new native wench. Phwoar, thighs like a rugger bugger and a rack stocked better than the pantry at the Savoy Grill. I wouldn't mind exploiting that natural resource. Don't mind so much entering dark places after all.

Charles Marlow, Darkest Africa, 1902.