[PS] [Editorial] some one -> someone

src/epub/text/a-good-story-spoiled.xhtml

@@ -11,7 +11,7 @@
 			<p>Few nights ago in a rather tough saloon in a little town on the Central Railroad, a big, strapping desperado, who had an unenviable reputation as a bad man generally, walked up to the bar and in a loud voice ordered everybody in the saloon to walk up and take a drink. The crowd moved quickly to the bar at his invitation, as the man was half drunk and was undoubtedly dangerous when in that condition.</p>
 			<p>One man alone failed to accept the invitation. He was a rather small man, neatly dressed, who sat calmly in his chair, gazing idly at the crowd. A student of physiognomy would have been attracted by the expression of his face, which was one of cool determination and force of will. His jaw was square and firm, and his eye gray and</p>
 			<p>steady, with that peculiar gray glint in the iris that presages more danger than any other kind of optic.</p>
-			<p>The bully looked around and saw that some one had declined his invitation.</p>
+			<p>The bully looked around and saw that someone had declined his invitation.</p>
 			<p>He repeated it in a louder voice.</p>
 			<p>The small man rose to his feet and walked coolly toward the desperado.</p>
 			<p>“Excuse me,” he said in a low but determined tone, “I’m a little deaf and didn’t hear you the first time. Gimme whisky straight.”</p>

src/epub/text/city-perils.xhtml

@@ -12,7 +12,7 @@
 			<p><abbr>Mr.</abbr> Dilworthy was an old resident of Houston, and on rainy nights he always walked in the middle of the street, which is well paved.</p>
 			<p>Alas! if <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Dilworthy had only remembered the promise made his wife!</p>
 			<p>He started out all right, and just as he was walking up San Jacinto Street he staggered over to one side of the street.</p>
-			<p>A policeman standing on the comer heard a loud yell of despair, and turning, saw a man throw up his arms and then disappear from sight. Before the policeman could call some one who could swim the man had gone for the third and last time.</p>
+			<p>A policeman standing on the comer heard a loud yell of despair, and turning, saw a man throw up his arms and then disappear from sight. Before the policeman could call someone who could swim the man had gone for the third and last time.</p>
 			<p><abbr>Mr.</abbr> Jeremiah Q. Dilworthy had fallen into the sidewalk.</p>
 		</section>
 	</body>

src/epub/text/getting-at-the-facts.xhtml

@@ -9,7 +9,7 @@
 		<section id="getting-at-the-facts" epub:type="volume se:short-story">
 			<h2 epub:type="title">Getting at the Facts</h2>
 			<p>It was late in the afternoon and the day staff was absent. The night editor had just come in, pulled off his coat, vest, collar, and necktie, rolled up his shirtsleeves and eased down his suspenders, and was getting ready for work.</p>
-			<p>Some one knocked timidly outside the door, and the night editor yelled, “Come in.”</p>
+			<p>Someone knocked timidly outside the door, and the night editor yelled, “Come in.”</p>
 			<p>A handsome young lady with entreating blue eyes and a Psyche knot entered with a rolled manuscript in her hand.</p>
 			<p>The night editor took it silently and unrolled it. It was a poem and he read it half aloud with a convulsive jaw movement that resulted from his organs of speech being partially engaged with about a quarter of a plug of chewing tobacco. The poem ran thus:</p>
 			<blockquote epub:type="z3998:poem">

src/epub/text/identified.xhtml

@@ -9,7 +9,7 @@
 		<section id="identified" epub:type="volume se:short-story">
 			<h2 epub:type="title">Identified</h2>
 			<p>A stranger walked into a Houston bank the other day and presented a draft to the cashier for payment.</p>
-			<p>“You will have to be identified,” said the cashier, “by some one who knows your name to be Henry B. Saunders.”</p>
+			<p>“You will have to be identified,” said the cashier, “by someone who knows your name to be Henry B. Saunders.”</p>
 			<p>“But I don’t know anybody in Houston,” said the stranger. “Here’s a lot of letters addressed to me, and a telegram from my firm, and a lot of business cards. Won’t they be identification enough?”</p>
 			<p>“I am sorry,” said the cashier, “but while I have no doubt that you are the party, our rule is to require better identification.”</p>
 			<p>The man unbuttoned his vest and showed the initial, H. B. S., on his shirt. “Does that go?” he asked. The cashier shook his head “You might have Henry B. Saunders’ letters, and his papers, and also his shirt on, without being the right man. We are forced to be very careful.”</p>

src/epub/text/why-he-hesitated.xhtml

@@ -10,7 +10,7 @@
 			<h2 epub:type="title">Why He Hesitated</h2>
 			<p>A man with a worn, haggard countenance that showed traces of deep sorrow and suffering rushed excitedly up the stairs into the editorial rooms of the Post.</p>
 			<p>The literary editor was alone in his corner and the man threw himself into a chair near by and said:</p>
-			<p>“Excuse me, sir, for inflicting my troubles upon you, but I must unbosom myself to some one. I am the unhappiest of men. Two months ago, in a quiet little town in Eastern Texas, there was a family dwelling in the midst of peace and contentment. Hezekiah Skinner was the head of that family, and he almost idolized his wife, who appeared to completely return his affection. Alas, sir, she was deceiving him. Her protestations of love were but honeyed lies, intended to beguile and blind him. She had become infatuated with William Wagstaff, a neighbor, who had insidiously planned to capture her affections. She listened to WagstafPs pleadings and fled with him, leaving her husband with a wrecked home and a broken heart. Can you not feel for me, sir?”</p>
+			<p>“Excuse me, sir, for inflicting my troubles upon you, but I must unbosom myself to someone. I am the unhappiest of men. Two months ago, in a quiet little town in Eastern Texas, there was a family dwelling in the midst of peace and contentment. Hezekiah Skinner was the head of that family, and he almost idolized his wife, who appeared to completely return his affection. Alas, sir, she was deceiving him. Her protestations of love were but honeyed lies, intended to beguile and blind him. She had become infatuated with William Wagstaff, a neighbor, who had insidiously planned to capture her affections. She listened to WagstafPs pleadings and fled with him, leaving her husband with a wrecked home and a broken heart. Can you not feel for me, sir?”</p>
 			<p>“I do, indeed,” said the literary editor. “I can conceive the agony, the sorrow, the deep suffering that you must have felt.”</p>
 			<p>“For two months,” continued the man, “the home of Hezekiah Skinner has been desolate, and this woman and Wagstaff have been flying from his wrath.”</p>
 			<p>“What do you intend to do?” asked the literary editor.</p>