…he stopped, and, with the perspiration trickling down his face, pointed to a bloody pile on the floor. ‘There they are,’ he said ‘ thirty-two of them! The toughest to draw imaginable. Now I shall stick them in again and fill them!’ He did so, and the torture was so great that over and over again I swooned. For twenty hours he whirled away first at one root and then at another, piercing the gums and pricking the nerves; and the more I implored him to stop the more he hurt me. At last he finished, the whirling instrument was laid aside, and with the tip of my bleeding tongue I felt, in each tooth, a hole big enough to hold an egg. “Do you see this? ‘ he said, holding up a bottle. Its Scotch whiskey, and I’m going to fill your teeth with it. You will then know…