It would be stupid, or absurd, as I suspected, if not dangerous, to pretend to a belligerent stance, to protest, or threaten, or to appeal to legalities, the purport of which might well be aligned precisely against one, then perhaps, I thought, one might appeal to the pity, the mercies, of one's captors Image source: Device Bondage.com.
I've been working my way through Witness of Gor, the Gor novel Norman wrote after his long hiatus from writing Gor novels when he lost his publisher, DAW Books. I'm only about halfway through Witness, which so far has been one long slavegirl fantasy-fest.
Even so, it's full of Norman's trademark comma-clause laden sentences. I've picked out some of the longer, more comma-enriched sentences because hey, they're so much fun you gotta share. I've also interpreted a few for the lengthy-sentence impaired. Those who regard Hemingway's spare prose will no doubt burst a blood vessel, however, there's all kinds of fun to be had with all kinds of different prose styles, and if you can't enjoy Norman's, even knowing their flaws full well, I'll just let that be your problem. Otherwise, enjoy!
The will by the rule of which, by the decision of which, I, and perhaps others, might be confined would doubtless be remote from the instrumentalities by means of which the dictates of that will would be enacted.
Interpretation: The Big Boss don't mess with the details.
My mood, or fit, of indignation, or resolve, of protest, of momentary righteousness, of transitory belligerence, such a futile bellicosity, soon passed.
Interpretation: My mood soon passed.
It would be stupid, or absurd, as I suspected, if not dangerous, to pretend to a belligerent stance, to protest, or threaten, or to appeal to legalities, the purport of which might well be aligned precisely against one, then perhaps, I thought, one might appeal to the pity, the mercies, of one's captors.
Interpretation: Rather than try to bully the men while naked and chained, I should probably act all helpless and stuff.
I did not think, really, given the fact that I was here, the presumed methodicality of my arrival in this place, the presumably routine manner of my incarceration, the nature of my cell, or kennel, suggesting that it was not unique, that my presence here would not be its first occupancy nor its last, the unlikelihood that there was anything special about me, the probability that I was only one of several such as myself, that my pleas would move my captors.
Interpretation: I was probably not the first woman in this cell.
I turned, of course, immediately and fell to my knees, putting my head down to the lavender grass, as was its color here, in this portion of the garden, the palms of my hands down, too, on the grass, beside my head.
Interpretation: Lavender grass? o0
I was ravening.
Interpretation: I found myself, unaccountably, perhaps not amazingly, interested in sustenance, or food, the mere thought of which sent my mind into paroxysms of desire for some sweet, delicate, delicious morsel, or chunk, of tasty comestibles, my tongue almost tasting itself, in my implacable desire for the least, or perhaps even the most, bit of that thing which I, hitherto unknowing, uninterested, was now forced by circumstances to consider, at last, of paramount importance: food.
Too, I do not think it had to do merely with an accent, though they surely had such, an accent which appeared distinctively, oddly, in words they uttered in various languages, languages some of which I could recognize, though I could not speak them, as the doors were opened, and which, on the other hand, seemed so natural, so apt, in their discourse among themselves.
Interpretations: Some of these guys had funny accents even in languages I didn't know.