Personal Narrative: The Spoils Of Piracy In America

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Red Sam greeted me with a wide smile, his teeth gleaming against his dark skin. I nodded my thanks to my guide and pushed past her into to a dimly lit parlor decorated with lavish care. Thick Persian rugs cushioned the floor. Tapestries from the Far East covered the walls. Oaken English furniture was topped with Italian fineries. I would never asked, but I suspected that all the items in this apartment were spoils of piracy.
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