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Sometimes he would hold me in his arms, and gaze into my eyes, with such intentness and tenderness, with so soft a light in his eyes, that I, my head lifted, would be overjoyed, my love flooding forth to him, but then, frightened, I would put my head down, against his shoulder, in my collar. - (Captive of Gor, Chapter 17, Sentence #84)

I scarcely dared whisper to myself what might be the nature of those emotions. I think he feared he might begin to care for a girl, who was only a slave. Whereas I wanted him, more than anything, to like me, to care for me, if only a little, I realized, too, only too well, the terrible dangers implicit in this for me. Sometimes he would hold me in his arms, and gaze into my eyes, with such intentness and tenderness, with so soft a light in his eyes, that I, my head lifted, would be overjoyed, my love flooding forth to him, but then, frightened, I would put my head down, against his shoulder, in my collar. In what tumult, how troubled, were my feelings! I wanted him to care for me, more than anything, but I was afraid that he might begin to do so. Often I could read his expressions and see there, in his eyes, in the sternness of a visage, the curl of a lip, that he would fight within himself so despicable a weakness. Rask of Treve was struggling with himself, castigating himself, denouncing himself, I think, fighting not to care for me, a mere slave. - (Captive of Gor)