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A locksmith might or might not possess a suitable key or keys for opening the cuff locks, but he might have, at least, tools, a file or hacksaw, which might eventually free me from the restraints. - (Plunder of Gor, Chapter 1, Sentence #477)

Perhaps a second person might have managed something but my hands were so closely pinioned that I could scarcely angle a pin into a lock, let alone address one directly, and the nail file was too short, as I could hold it, to do more than rest on the metal, and my fingers were too weak to exert more than a modicum of pressure on the steel. I looked at the phone. Perhaps a locksmith could be relied upon for discretion, though I doubted it. A locksmith might or might not possess a suitable key or keys for opening the cuff locks, but he might have, at least, tools, a file or hacksaw, which might eventually free me from the restraints. But how could I receive a locksmith, clad as I was, armed with no excuse that might not border on the inane or transparently meretricious? Too, might he not suspect my motivations? Might he not even fear a fraud, a scandal or extortion, of some sort, a girl who might suddenly struggle and scream, this outburst followed promptly by the arrival of male colleagues, seemingly outraged, threatening, and righteous? Again I looked on the phone. It seemed far away. I felt weak, so weak. - (Plunder of Gor)