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"You are so quick, so cunning, so dangerous!" "Please," I said. - (Dancer of Gor, Chapter 4, Sentence #189)

In my heart I am a primitive woman, one who has been bred upon from the time of caves, an ancient woman, a Medieval woman, a Nineteenth-century woman, a natural woman, a needful, loving woman! I was as alien, and sorrowful, and lost, and miserable, in my world as you were!" "Liar!" he cried. He snapped the whip in fury, and I shrank back, startled by its sound and threat, before him. "You are so clever, you lying slut!" he hissed. "You are so quick, so cunning, so dangerous!" "Please," I said. "But I see through your tiny tricks!" "Why do you think I am a modern woman, in some sense you despise," I asked, "because I can speak clearly, because I can think, because I have read a book? Do you not think that true women, loving, needful women, can do these things? Do you not think that what you can love, they, too, can love?" "They demean such things," he said, "using them as baubles and adornments". I wept. "Perhaps those little adornments, those little vanity devices," he said, "will make you more amusing, and interesting, in your collar". - (Dancer of Gor)