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Adjust header/footer semantics

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Alex Cabal 2020-12-28 21:24:39 -06:00
parent 8e2c60e76e
commit 7d3c23e71a
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src/epub/text/the-lotus-and-the-cockleburrs.xhtml
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@ -47,9 +47,9 @@
<p epub:type="z3998:valediction">Your <abbr>Obt.</abbr> Servant,</p>
<p epub:type="z3998:signature z3998:sender">John De Graffenreid Atwood,</p>
<p><abbr class="initialism">U.S.</abbr> Consul at Vibora</p>
</footer>
<p epub:type="z3998:postscript"><abbr class="initialism">P.S.</abbr>⁠—Hello! Uncle Obadiah. How’s the old burg racking along? What would the government do without you and me? Look out for a green-headed parrot and a bunch of bananas soon, from your old friend</p>
<p epub:type="z3998:signature z3998:sender">Johnny</p>
</footer>
</blockquote>
<p>“I throw in that postscript,” explained the consul, “so Uncle Obadiah won’t take offence at the official tone of the letter! Now, Billy, you get that correspondence fixed up and send Pancho to the <i xml:lang="es">estafeta</i> with it. The <i epub:type="se:name.vessel.ship">Ariadne</i> takes the mail out tomorrow if they make up that load of fruit today.”</p>
<p>The night programme in Vibora never varied. The recreations of the populace were soporific and flat. The people wandered about, barefoot, aimless, and silent, each with lighted cigar or cigarette. Looking down the dimly lighted ways you seemed to see a threading maze of brunette ghosts tangled with an accompanying procession of insane fireflies. In some houses the thrumming of lugubrious guitars added to the depression of the <i xml:lang="fr">triste</i> night. Giant tree-frogs rattled in the foliage as loudly as the end-man’s “bones” in a minstrel troupe. By nine o’clock the streets were vacant, and all were abed.</p>