Book Name: Cloud Atlas A Novel
Writer: DAVID MITCHELL
Past the Indian village, upon a hopeless strand, I occurred on a path of
recent footprints. Through spoiling kelp, ocean cocoa-nuts, and bamboo, the
tracks drove me to their creator, a White man, his trousers and Pea-coat
moved up, donning a kempt beard and an outsized Beaver, scooping and
filtering the cindery sand with a teaspoon so eagerly that he saw me simply
after I had hailed him from yards away. In this way it was, I made the
associate of Dr. Henry Goose, specialist
to the London respectability. His identity was nothing unexpected. In the
event that there be any eyrie desolate, or isle so distant, that one may there
resort unchallenged by Englishman, ’tis not down on any guide I ever saw.
Had the specialist lost anything on that horrid shore? Would I be able to
render assistance? Dr. Goose shook his head, tied free his ‘scarf, and
showed its contents with clear pride. “Teeth, sir, are the plated vessels of the
mission in hand. In days passed by this Arcadian strand was a man-eaters’
banqueting lobby, yes, where the solid engorged themselves on the frail. The
teeth, they spat out, as you or I would oust cherry stones. Be that as it may,
these base molars, sir, will be transmuted to gold, and how? A craftsman of
Piccadilly who styles dental replacement sets for honorability pays
abundantly for human gnashers.
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