One thing was certain: when someone searched into secret places, he often came up with things he would rather… — Jack Vance

Jaro, my dear, there is no mystery about violence. It is the reflexive act of brutes, boors and moral defectives.

They meant no harm, of course; they wanted only that he be like themselves, which was the prerogative of all parents.

“My term of penitence is over and tomorrow I leave this dust hole and that sullen beast Arsloe behind—forever, or so I hope. I must take pains, of course, to avoid my previous faults.”

“What did you do?” asked Gaing. “Did you—” and he coarsely suggested an act of sexual perversion committed upon the young daughter of the Chief Magistrate.

“No, nothing like that. What I did was worse. I gave voice to unpopular opinions.”