[4M] [Editorial] any one -> anyone

src/epub/text/lost-on-dress-parade.xhtml

@@ -29,7 +29,7 @@
 			<p>“But we don’t know each other⁠—it wouldn’t be right, would it?” she said, doubtfully.</p>
 			<p>“There is nothing wrong about it,” said the young man, candidly. “I’ll introduce myself⁠—permit me⁠—<abbr>Mr.</abbr> Towers Chandler. After our dinner, which I will try to make as pleasant as possible, I will bid you good evening, or attend you safely to your door, whichever you prefer.”</p>
 			<p>“But, dear me!” said the girl, with a glance at Chandler’s faultless attire. “In this old dress and hat!”</p>
-			<p>“Never mind that,” said Chandler, cheerfully. “I’m sure you look more charming in them than any one we shall see in the most elaborate dinner toilette.”</p>
+			<p>“Never mind that,” said Chandler, cheerfully. “I’m sure you look more charming in them than anyone we shall see in the most elaborate dinner toilette.”</p>
 			<p>“My ankle does hurt yet,” admitted the girl, attempting a limping step. “I think I will accept your invitation, <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Chandler. You may call me⁠—Miss Marian.”</p>
 			<p>“Come then, Miss Marian,” said the young architect, gaily, but with perfect courtesy; “you will not have far to walk. There is a very respectable and good restaurant in the next block. You will have to lean on my arm⁠—so⁠—and walk slowly. It is lonely dining all by one’s self. I’m just a little bit glad that you slipped on the ice.”</p>
 			<p>When the two were established at a well-appointed table, with a promising waiter hovering in attendance, Chandler began to experience the real joy that his regular outing always brought to him.</p>

src/epub/text/springtime-a-la-carte.xhtml

@@ -13,7 +13,7 @@
 			<p>Sarah was crying over her bill of fare.</p>
 			<p>Think of a New York girl shedding tears on the menu card!</p>
 			<p>To account for this you will be allowed to guess that the lobsters were all out, or that she had sworn ice-cream off during Lent, or that she had ordered onions, or that she had just come from a Hackett matinee. And then, all these theories being wrong, you will please let the story proceed.</p>
-			<p>The gentleman who announced that the world was an oyster which he with his sword would open made a larger hit than he deserved. It is not difficult to open an oyster with a sword. But did you ever notice any one try to open the terrestrial bivalve with a typewriter? Like to wait for a dozen raw opened that way?</p>
+			<p>The gentleman who announced that the world was an oyster which he with his sword would open made a larger hit than he deserved. It is not difficult to open an oyster with a sword. But did you ever notice anyone try to open the terrestrial bivalve with a typewriter? Like to wait for a dozen raw opened that way?</p>
 			<p>Sarah had managed to pry apart the shells with her unhandy weapon far enough to nibble a wee bit at the cold and clammy world within. She knew no more shorthand than if she had been a graduate in stenography just let slip upon the world by a business college. So, not being able to stenog, she could not enter that bright galaxy of office talent. She was a freelance typewriter and canvassed for odd jobs of copying.</p>
 			<p>The most brilliant and crowning feat of Sarah’s battle with the world was the deal she made with Schulenberg’s Home Restaurant. The restaurant was next door to the old red brick in which she hall-roomed. One evening after dining at Schulenberg’s 40-cent, five-course table d’hôte (served as fast as you throw the five baseballs at the coloured gentleman’s head) Sarah took away with her the bill of fare. It was written in an almost unreadable script neither English nor German, and so arranged that if you were not careful you began with a toothpick and rice pudding and ended with soup and the day of the week.</p>
 			<p>The next day Sarah showed Schulenberg a neat card on which the menu was beautifully typewritten with the viands temptingly marshalled under their right and proper heads from “hors d’oeuvre” to “not responsible for overcoats and umbrellas.”</p>

src/epub/text/tobins-palm.xhtml

@@ -33,7 +33,7 @@
 			<p>“Look,” says he, “at the light lady upon the bench. And have ye forgotten the nigger man that burned me ear? And isn’t the money I had gone⁠—a dollar sixty-five it was?”</p>
 			<p>I thought he was no more than summing up his catastrophes so as to get violent with good excuse, as men will do, and I tried to make him understand such things was trifles.</p>
 			<p>“Listen,” says Tobin. “Ye’ve no ear for the gift of prophecy or the miracles of the inspired. What did the palmist lady tell ye out of me hand? ’Tis coming true before your eyes. ‘Look out,’ says she, ‘for a dark man and a light woman; they’ll bring ye trouble.’ Have ye forgot the nigger man, though he got some of it back from me fist? Can ye show me a lighter woman than the blonde lady that was the cause of me hat falling in the water? And where’s the dollar sixty-five I had in me vest when we left the shooting gallery?”</p>
-			<p>The way Tobin put it, it did seem to corroborate the art of prediction, though it looked to me that these accidents could happen to any one at Coney without the implication of palmistry.</p>
+			<p>The way Tobin put it, it did seem to corroborate the art of prediction, though it looked to me that these accidents could happen to anyone at Coney without the implication of palmistry.</p>
 			<p>Tobin got up and walked around on deck, looking close at the passengers out of his little red eyes. I asked him the interpretation of his movements. Ye never know what Tobin has in his mind until he begins to carry it out.</p>
 			<p>“Ye should know,” says he, “I’m working out the salvation promised by the lines in me palm. I’m looking for the crooked-nose man that’s to bring the good luck. ’Tis all that will save us. Jawn, did ye ever see a straighter-nosed gang of hellions in the days of your life?”</p>
 			<p>’Twas the nine-thirty boat, and we landed and walked uptown through Twenty-second Street, Tobin being without his hat.</p>