"Not one."
Up to this moment, during every interview with Rachel, Kenkenes had
forsworn some little prejudice, or sacrificed some of his blithe
self-esteem. But the tragic narrative swept all these supports from
him and left him solitary to face the charge of indirect complicity in
murder. He was an Egyptian--a loyal supporter of the government and
its policies; he had profited by Israel's toil, and if he succeeded to
his father's office, Israel would serve him directly in his labor for
the Pharaoh to be. He had known that Israel was oppressed, that Israel
died of hard labor, and he had pitied it, as the humane soul in him had
felt for the overworked draft-oxen or the sacrifices that were led
bleating to the altars. Perhaps he had even casually decried the
policy that sent women into the brick-fields and did men to death in a
year in the mines. But his own conscience had not been hurt, nor had
he taken the misdeed home to himself.
Now his sensations were vastly different. He felt all the guilt of his
nation, and he had nothing to offer as amends but his own humiliation.
Of this he had an overwhelming plenitude and his eloquent face showed
it. With an effort he raised his head and spoke.
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