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There was no window in the room, but it was well lit, indirectly. - (Prize of Gor, Chapter 4, Sentence #8)

"What am I doing here? What is the meaning of this? Where are my clothes? Why am I dressed like this?" "Did you enjoy the performance of La Bohème?" he asked. She looked about the room, frightened, tears burning in her eyes. The room seemed rather officelike, and there were shelves of books about the walls, and certain curios here and there, and occasional meaningless bric-a-brac, or so one supposes, and some filing cabinets, some office machinery, diverse paraphernalia, some chairs. There was no window in the room, but it was well lit, indirectly. "I want my clothes!" she said. "You may inquire later about your clothing, but not now," he said. The blond-haired, blue-eyed woman, to whom the older woman had taken such an instant dislike, whom she had scorned as so simple, so unworthy of the male, the one who had accompanied him to the performances, and had been his companion in the limousine, she who seemed so vital, so alive, so sensuous, who was so insolently, so excitingly figured, who was so primitive, so sensual that she seemed little more than a luscious, beautiful, well-curved animal designed by nature to stimulate and satisfy with perfection the lowest, the most basic and the most physical needs of powerful, inconsiderate men, was also in the room. - (Prize of Gor)