He did not answer, he did not give Ahmed Ismail leave to rise from the ground.
He sated his eyes and his vanity with the spectacle of the man's abasement.

Even his troubled heart ached with a duller pain.
"I have been a fool," he murmured, "I have wasted my years.

I have tortured myself for nothing.

Yes, I have been a fool." A wave of anger swept over him, drowning his pride--anger against himself.

He thought of the white people with whom he had lived.
"I sought for a recognition of my equality with them," he went on.