Tweak formatting in story

src/epub/css/local.css

@@ -270,15 +270,21 @@ i [epub|type~="z3998:persona"]{
 	border-top: 1px solid;
 }
 
-#in-mezzotint div{
+#a-night-in-new-arabia header{
+	font-variant: small-caps;
+	margin: 3em auto;
+}
+
+#in-mezzotint blockquote{
 	border: 2px solid;
-	margin: 1em auto;
+	margin-left: auto;
+	margin-right: auto;
 	padding: 1em 0;
 	text-align: center;
 	width: 9em;
 }
 
-#in-mezzotint div > p{
+#in-mezzotint blockquote > p{
 	font-size: large;
 	font-weight: bold;
 	text-indent: 0;

src/epub/text/a-night-in-new-arabia.xhtml

@@ -13,9 +13,10 @@
 			<p>Entertainment for many Arabian nights might be had from the histories of those who have escaped the largesse of the army of Commanders of the Faithful. Until dawn you might sit on the enchanted rug and listen to such stories as are told of the powerful genie Roc-Ef-El-Er who sent the Forty Thieves to soak up the oil plant of Ali Baba; of the good Caliph Kar-Neg-Ghe, who gave away palaces; of the Seven Voyages of Sailbad, the Sinner, who frequented wooden excursion steamers among the islands; of the Fisherman and the Bottle; of the Barmecides’ Boarding house; of Aladdin’s rise to wealth by means of his Wonderful Gas-meter.</p>
 			<p>But now, there being ten sultans to one Sheherazade, she is held too valuable to be in fear of the bowstring. In consequence the art of narrative languishes. And, as the lesser caliphs are hunting the happy poor and the resigned unfortunate from cover to cover in order to heap upon them strange mercies and mysterious benefits, too often comes the report from Arabian headquarters that the captive refused “to talk.”</p>
 			<p>This reticence, then, in the actors who perform the sad comedies of their philanthropy-scourged world, must, in a degree, account for the shortcomings of this painfully gleaned tale, which shall be called</p>
-			<p>
-				<b>The Story of the Caliph Who Alleviated His Conscience</b>
-			</p>
+			<section id="a-night-in-new-arabia-1" epub:type="z3998:subchapter">
+				<header>
+					<p>The Story of the Caliph Who Alleviated His Conscience</p>
+				</header>
 				<p>Old Jacob Spraggins mixed for himself some Scotch and lithia water at his $1,200 oak sideboard. Inspiration must have resulted from its imbibition, for immediately afterward he struck the quartered oak soundly with his fist and shouted to the empty dining room:</p>
 				<p>“By the coke ovens of hell, it must be that ten thousand dollars! If I can get that squared, it’ll do the trick.”</p>
 				<p>Thus, by the commonest artifice of the trade, having gained your interest, the action of the story will now be suspended, leaving you grumpily to consider a sort of dull biography beginning fifteen years before.</p>
@@ -143,6 +144,7 @@
 				<p>“Better make that vinegar raise three cents instead of two. I’ll be back in an hour and sign the letters.”</p>
 				<hr/>
 				<p>The true history of the Caliph Harun Al Rashid relates that toward the end of his reign he wearied of philanthropy, and caused to be beheaded all his former favorites and companions of his “Arabian Nights” rambles. Happy are we in these days of enlightenment, when the only death warrant the caliphs can serve on us is in the form of a tradesman’s bill.</p>
+			</section>
 		</article>
 	</body>
 </html>

src/epub/text/in-mezzotint.xhtml

@@ -29,9 +29,9 @@
 			<p>It was nearly eleven when he went upstairs.</p>
 			<p>The light in his wife’s room was turned low, and she lay upon her bed undressed. As he stepped to her side and raised her hand, some steel instrument fell and jingled upon the floor, and he saw upon the white countenance a creeping red horror that froze his blood.</p>
 			<p>He sprang to the lamp and turned up the blaze. As he parted his lips to send forth a shout, he paused for a moment, with his eyes upon his dead patient’s half ticket that lay upon the table. The other half had been neatly fitted to it, and it now read:</p>
-			<div>
+			<blockquote>
 				<p>Admit Two</p>
-			</div>
+			</blockquote>
 		</article>
 	</body>
 </html>