“He did not see the waitress until the two overlarge hands appeared upon the counter opposite him and into sight. He could see the figured pattern of her dress and the bib of an apron and the two bigknuckled hands lying on the edge of the counter as completely immobile as if they were something she had fetched in from the kitchen. ‘Coffee and pie,’ he said.
    Her voice sounded downcast, quite empty. ‘Lemon cocoanut chocolate.’
    In proportion to the height from which her voice came, the hands could not be her hands at all. ‘Yes,’ Joe said.
    The hands did not move. The voice did not move. ‘Lemon cocoanut chocolate. Which kind.’”

—Wiliam Faulkner, Light in August, 1932.