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Beth Potter made my father bitter. "Better?!" he said, "Why would they think Beth Potter's pots were better than my pans?" He realized then that | his pans had been acquired at the highest cost--his humanity. | He thought back to the day he had sold those poor orphan children to pirates to pay for those pans. | The memories carried with them the sweet salty taste of blood, sweat and pretzels. How he had reveled in the joy of eating each grain of salt off of the pretzel children and making them into different letters of the alphabet. | Those days were long gone, though, and Beth was no longer standing on the docks, overlooking the sea where the pirate ships floated peacefully in the foreground of an overturned sunset. No, Beth was back in a dim kitchen, speaking to