There was the sort of silence which I believe cyclones drop into for several seconds before getting down to it and starting to give the populace the works. Throbbing? Yes, throbbing wouldn't be a bad word to describe it. Nor would electric; for the matter of that, and if you care to call it ominous, it would be all right with me. It was a silence of the type that makes the toes curl and sends a shiver down the spinal cord as you stand waiting for the bang. I could see Aunt Dahlia swelling slowly like a chunk of bubble gum, and a less prudent man than Bertram Wooster would have warned her again about her blood pressure.
(from How Right You Are, Jeeves, by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)