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And as time passes she begins, fearfully, trying to conceal her joy, to suspect it may be so. - (Kur of Gor, Chapter 50, Sentence #23)

Is it so strange? That a slave might love her master, that a master might care for his slave? Might she not, to some extent, have brought this about, perhaps lamentably, by her beauty, her helplessness, her heat, her love, her devotion, her selfless service? Too, is she not, after all, a perfection of a female for a man, a slave, what he most desires and wants, something far beyond what he might obtain from a free woman? In a collar she is, after all, a creature of love. Is the collar itself not a symbol of this? That she exists for love? So, kneeling, needful, submitted, her own love opened like a flower, she begins to hope that something of her own feelings, so deep, so profound, so overwhelming, might be reciprocated, if only to a tiny extent, by her master. Scarcely had she dared hope for this that night when, to the double stroke of a whip, she was dragged in chains from the auction block. And as time passes she begins, fearfully, trying to conceal her joy, to suspect it may be so. Has her master not, for example, of late become less patient and more strict with her, as though he might be fighting something within himself, something unwelcome, which he was unwilling to acknowledge? Surely she must now strive to do nothing which might cause him to rid himself of her. She is well aware that he would be subjected to the scorn of his peers, did they, in amusement, suspect that he might care for a slave. But might they not, some of them, in the secrecy of their own domiciles, be as deplorably guilty in this regard? Certainly the joy, the radiance, of many slaves, encountered in the markets and streets, suggested that. - (Kur of Gor)