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"With you here," I said, "how could I be lonely?" "What a lovely thing to say," she said. - (Mercenaries of Gor, Chapter 25, Sentence #1353)

Some women in such a place, even those whose existence is known, or remembered, at least vaguely, might wait for months for a summons to the couch of the master, he perhaps selecting a ribbon with her name on it, from a rack of slave ribbons, and tossing it to an attendant, that she be brought in chains to his quarters that night, the ribbon on her collar. Too, it can doubtless be lonely in the house of a slaver, especially when the guards do not choose to amuse themselves with you, or have you perform for them, or, say, when you find yourself alone at night, perhaps a scrubbing slave, in the basement of a cylinder, chained in a cement kennel. "Oh," she said. "With you here," I said, "how could I be lonely?" "What a lovely thing to say," she said. I thought it had been pretty good myself. To be sure, it had required quick thinking. "But mostly," she said, as though tearfully, "I am distressed at the boldness with which I spoke before". - (Mercenaries of Gor)