A
high, quavering voice rang in my ear.
“I’ve got all my teeth, you know.” (…)
The old lady, standing by the sofa, gave me a gummy smile. Though I could have sworn she did not have a
single tooth left in her head, I thought a positive response was appropriate.
“What?” I said. “All your own
teeth? How wonderful.”
“Isn’t it?” Reaching into the
pocket of her pinafore, she pulled out a jar, rattling it.
I
took a step back as the horror hit. It
was full of teeth. Lots of teeth. Hundreds of human teeth.
The gummy grin broadened. “I
collect them. Aren’t they beautiful?”
(from Inspector
Hobbes and the Blood by Wilkie Martin)
.
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