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He looked at me with a gaze of measured savvy. Still I could perceive a weariness. Obviously, he did not know the facts.
"We took half-a-million blacks and made slaves of them!"...I laid on a little erudition..."How do you like that?"
"Whites never made a slave out of nobody," he said. "Not one."
"What?" My eyes narrowed. "Are you crazy?"
"You people sailed to my shore," he said, "and purchased my product. We had already enslaved our own people, and frog-marched them to the docks. They was slaves before you got them. Sorry about your luck, but you can't make a slave out of a slave." He began to chuckle, a low rolling riposte. "But you can sure make a profit."
"Your own people?" I was crestfallen; then angry. This was obviously bullshit: I was the White Devil. Full of pride and sin. Not to mention privilege. But then again..."
"Let me introduce myself", he raised a slender palm with a pearl ring."Meet the Black Devil."
"You?" I said.
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