Mr. Smith was holding a whole peeled pineapple, taking eager bites with his small sharp teeth, the juice running down his hands and dripping onto his slippers. Every muscle of his bony face was in motion, ripping the meat off like a hungry coyote working on a carcass, his jaw mulching the fruit to pulp with fast up-and-down movements like an ancient sewing machine, intermittently sucking and slurping the juice through his half-open mouth. His eyes were mere slits, reminding Sole of the rats onboard the ship, spying for hours until they found a bounty, and stealing it away into a quiet corner, ratting it down with disgusting pleasure. 

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