Ingeborg (going on with her work). No, sir. Something we have earned, I suppose.
The Doctor. Yes, you earn them every day.
Ingeborg. Our meals, perhaps?
The Doctor (laughing). No, it isn't something to eat, unfortunately. (Politely.) Do you ever read papers, Ingeborg?
Ingeborg. Papers? Oh, you mean the price-lists they leave at the kitchen door. Yes, sir; every day, before we go to market, I—
The Doctor. No, I don't mean papers of that sort. I mean—
Ingeborg. Oh, you mean the newspaper I take in to master's room every morning. No, Sir, I don't read that. I am told there are such horrors in it.
The Doctor. Quite so. Don't you care to read about horrors, then?
Ingeborg. Oh, we poor folk see enough of them in our everyday lives, without reading about them!—But perhaps the gentry enjoy it.
The Doctor. You are a very wise woman. Let me tell you, though, that there is a fight going on, about—oh, well, never mind what it is about. And the Editor and Mr. Rejn, who both come to this house, are the two chief fighters. Don't you want to know what they are fighting about?