From ae8380533c9814d6f7ae3b81f34e91d02e2464a5 Mon Sep 17 00:00:00 2001 From: vr8hub Date: Sat, 2 Nov 2019 00:51:17 -0500 Subject: [PATCH] [Waifs] [Editorial] every one -> everyone --- src/epub/text/confessions-of-a-humorist.xhtml | 2 +- 1 file changed, 1 insertion(+), 1 deletion(-) diff --git a/src/epub/text/confessions-of-a-humorist.xhtml b/src/epub/text/confessions-of-a-humorist.xhtml index c6ba217..9cb33ac 100644 --- a/src/epub/text/confessions-of-a-humorist.xhtml +++ b/src/epub/text/confessions-of-a-humorist.xhtml @@ -37,7 +37,7 @@

And then I became a harpy, a Moloch, a Jonah, a vampire, to my acquaintances. Anxious, haggard, greedy, I stood among them like a veritable killjoy. Let a bright saying, a witty comparison, a piquant phrase fall from their lips and I was after it like a hound springing upon a bone. I dared not trust my memory; but, turning aside guiltily and meanly, I would make a note of it in my ever-present memorandum book or upon my cuff for my own future use.

My friends regarded me in sorrow and wonder. I was not the same man. Where once I had furnished them entertainment and jollity, I now preyed upon them. No jests from me ever bid for their smiles now. They were too precious. I could not afford to dispense gratuitously the means of my livelihood.

I was a lugubrious fox praising the singing of my friends, the crow’s, that they might drop from their beaks the morsels of wit that I coveted.

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Nearly every one began to avoid me. I even forgot how to smile, not even paying that much for the sayings I appropriated.

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Nearly everyone began to avoid me. I even forgot how to smile, not even paying that much for the sayings I appropriated.

No persons, places, times, or subjects were exempt from my plundering in search of material. Even in church my demoralized fancy went hunting among the solemn aisles and pillars for spoil.

Did the minister give out the long-meter doxology, at once I began: “Doxology⁠—sockdology⁠—sockdolager⁠—meter⁠—meet her.”

The sermon ran through my mental sieve, its precepts filtering unheeded, could I but glean a suggestion of a pun or a bon mot. The solemnest anthems of the choir were but an accompaniment to my thoughts as I conceived new changes to ring upon the ancient comicalities concerning the jealousies of soprano, tenor, and basso.