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Yet, somehow, in spite of these things, I found that I wanted to cross the room, to put my hand on his arm, to touch him. - (Tarnsman of Gor, Chapter 2, Sentence #66)

I wanted to feel no sympathy with him, yet I found that I could not help it. I was angry with myself. He had deserted my mother and me, had he not? And what was it now that he felt some regret? And how was it that he had spoken so innocently of "all of them," whoever they might be? I did not want to find out. Yet, somehow, in spite of these things, I found that I wanted to cross the room, to put my hand on his arm, to touch him. I felt somehow a kinship with him, with this stranger and his sorrow. My eyes were moist. Something stirred in me, obscure, painful memories that had been silent, quiet for many years—the memory of a woman I had barely known, of a gentle face, of arms that had protected a child who had awakened frightened in the night. - (Tarnsman of Gor)