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The ceiling white, ill-painted, and cracked, flickered in the light of the tiny tharlarion oil lamp to the side, the single source of illumination in the apartment. - (Quarry of Gor, Chapter 32, Sentence #20)

I was sure the tavern's legal claim to me would be upheld by the scribes of the law. But now these trembling, glowing possibilities, as tenuous and uncertain as they might be, had closed their wings and were still. I rolled to my back, arching my spine, and stared angrily at the ceiling, and then, uncomfortable, was going to turn to my side once more when I stopped, moving not a muscle. The ceiling white, ill-painted, and cracked, flickered in the light of the tiny tharlarion oil lamp to the side, the single source of illumination in the apartment. There was a sound on the stairs, and then someone was on the landing outside. It seemed much too early for Bruno of Torcadino to have returned from his venture to enlist cohorts. Too, I had heard nothing of the crack or scraping of his stout crutch. - (Quarry of Gor)