“I name you ‘Beverly’,” I said.

“I name you ‘Beverly’,” I said.
“I am Beverly!” she cried. “I am Beverly!”
Then, in a few moments, she was sobbing, and clutching me.
“I am Beverly,” she sobbed. “I am Beverly!” Then, after a time, still holding to me, she lay trembling in my arms.
“I am Beverly,” she whispered. Then, in a few minutes, she lay softly on her side on the furs, facing away from me, her knees drawn up.
“My Master has named me,” she said. “I am Beverly.”
I stood up and looked down at her. She rolled to her back, and looked up at me.
“What is your name?” I asked.
“Beverly,” she said.
“I do not think you will forget your name,” I said.
“No, Master,” she smiled.
“Do not forget, either,” I said, “that you, who are an animal, a slave animal, were hitherto nameless, that before you had no name, that you were as nameless as any other animal, a verr, a kaiila, or tarsk, owned, not yet named.”
“I am well aware of that, Master,” she said. “I am an animal, your slave, and hitherto I was an animal without a name.”
“And now I have seen fit to give you a name.”
“Yes, Master. Thank you, Master.”

Guardsmen of Gor, p. 490

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