"More than one might think." She leans back, glancing down at her cigar; with a shrug Deirdre pops the stubby remnant of it into her mouth and chews. "What I stand to lose is obvious. If mainland money gets here before my port is not only on its feet again, but developed, I'll be muscled out. Robbed, again. But others make their Brass in ways that mainland business will destroy as well; the farmers growing coffee, the miners, that charming bookbinder, Mothers forbid that a mainlander take it into their head to build a factory here and consume an entire industry wholesale. A single textile mill would be as a wolf in the henhouse."