She was breathing hard, dragging for air, half in fright and half because the sudden effort had used up what little air she had managed to draw so briefly. “We’ve all been mixing our ideas, and we’ve got intellectual hot coppers— every blessed one of us. If they do, now and then, run away with a knocker, paint a sign, beat the watch, or huff a magistrate, they pay for their pastime, and that's sufficient. We can’t.
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