"Really?" said Bertie, examining his cigarette. "Well, that's rather a kick in the teeth, isn't it?" he asked glumly. He put the cigarette back in its case with a sigh. "I don't suppose there's anything else I've been enjoying that I didn't know was likely to kill me? Sleeping until ten in the morning, or reading too many mystery novels, or something?"
As though the notion of having to give up smoking had set his mind upon a more serious path than it was used to, Bertie frowned thoughtfully, not an expression seen often on his face. "I should much prefer not to join in fighting, of course, but... isn't it rather my duty? I mean, I missed the War by a couple of years, and never a happier fellow, but all the same... Code of the Woosters and all that. Still, there are other slings and arrows and whatsits to deal with first, eh?" he said, briskly.
He watched with intense concentration as Rose explained the operation of the microwave. "So it's as simple as bunging a bit of food in, pressing the whatsit to however many minutes and popping back at the appointed time? Jolly convenient, once I can find out how the requisite number of shakes of a lamb's tail, eh?"