"They had cut off the crocodile's head and sliced out the tongue and the floor of the mouth. He wore the huge, cold-eyed thing like a hat, his eyes no more than a gleam in the depths beneath the portcullised teeth. The empty lower jaw sagged, fat-jowled and grimly jovial, hiding the lower half of his face.
'The egungun, he didn't hurt you none?' he asked.
'No,' I said. 'Thanks to the men. Er . . . you wouldn't consider taking that off, would you?'" —Diana Gabaldon, Voyager (NY: Dell, 1994), 999