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"Well?" she demanded. - (Plunder of Gor, Chapter 40, Sentence #9)

I well remembered the free woman, slender, possibly lovely, veiled and robed, on the wharf in Victoria, who had, in her rage, at some conjectured insult, screaming, lashed the bars of my cage, for better than an Ehn, while I shrank back within it. I had made the grievous error of appealing to her as though she might be concerned for a slave. I had even, ignorantly, so haplessly, addressed her as "sister". "Well?" she demanded. The shop of the potter, Epicrates, like most Gorean shops, was open to the street during the day and would be closed at night, usually by means of heavy, folded wooden screens, secured with chains or rods. I could see he whom I took to be Epicrates in the back of the shop, who had looked up from his wheel. Shelves lined the walls of the shop, laden with an assemblage of diverse platters, craters, bowls, dishes, pitchers, and vessels. - (Plunder of Gor)