"Well, what are we to do about an heir, Ramose? You say there is not one, and I say there are two: Horemheb and Tuta—choose whichever you like."
"Horemheb will not accept the crown while you live, and Tuta is a thief, a murderer, a low born cur...."
His breath failed him; turning purple and shaking with fury, he brought out:
"Tuta—king of Egypt? No, sire, this shall not be so long as I live."
He got up.
"Are you going?" the king asked, getting up, too.
"I am going; there is nothing more to say."
"Wait. There was something else I wanted.... Yes, I know. Do what you think best, it is all the same to me, choose whom you like, only let me go. I cannot bear it any longer...."
His lips trembled, his face twitched like that of a child ready to burst into tears and, before Ramose had time to think, the king fell on his knees before him.
"Let me go! Let me go! Let me go!" he wept, wringing his hands.