He laughed and asked about my family, about our life in Charleston. When I told him about the house on East Bay and the plantation in the upcountry, his lively expression died away. “You own slaves then?” “. . . My family does, yes. But I, myself, don’t condone it.” “Yet you cast your lot with those who do?” I bristled. “. . . They are my family, sir. What would you have me do?” He gazed at me with kindness and pity. “To remain silent in the face of evil is itself a form of evil.”
