[Lamp] Fix typos

src/epub/text/the-rubaiyat-of-a-scotch-highball.xhtml

@@ -21,7 +21,7 @@
 			<p>Now, Babbitt had a home and a wife⁠—but that is another story. And I will tell you that story, which will show you a better habit and a worse story than you could find in the man who invented the phrase.</p>
 			<p>It began away up in Sullivan County, where so many rivers and so much trouble begins⁠—or begin; how would you say that? It was July, and Jessie was a summer boarder at the Mountain Squint Hotel, and Bob, who was just out of college, saw her one day⁠—and they were married in September. That’s the tabloid novel⁠—one swallow of water, and it’s gone.</p>
 			<p>But those July days!</p>
-			<p>Let the exclamation point expound it, for I shall not. For particulars you might read up on “Romeo and Juliet,” and Abraham Lincoln’s thrilling sonnet about “You can fool some of the people,” &c., and Darwin’s works.</p>
+			<p>Let the exclamation point expound it, for I shall not. For particulars you might read up on “Romeo and Juliet,” and Abraham Lincoln’s thrilling sonnet about “You can fool some of the people,” etc., and Darwin’s works.</p>
 			<p>But one thing I must tell you about. Both of them were mad over Omar’s Rubaiyat. They knew every verse of the old bluffer by heart⁠—not consecutively, but picking ’em out here and there as you fork the mushrooms in a fifty-cent steak à la Bordelaise. Sullivan County is full of rocks and trees; and Jessie used to sit on them, and⁠—please be good⁠—used to sit on the rocks; and Bob had a way of standing behind her with his hands over her shoulders holding her hands, and his face close to hers, and they would repeat over and over their favorite verses of the old tentmaker. They saw only the poetry and philosophy of the lines then⁠—indeed, they agreed that the Wine was only an image, and that what was meant to be celebrated was some divinity, or maybe Love or Life. However, at that time neither of them had tasted the stuff that goes with a sixty-cent table d’hôte.</p>
 			<p>Where was I? Oh, they married and came to New York. Bob showed his college diploma, and accepted a position filling inkstands in a lawyer’s office at $15 a week. At the end of two years he had worked up to $50, and gotten his first taste of Bohemia⁠—the kind that won’t stand the borax and formaldehyde tests.</p>
 			<p>They had two furnished rooms and a little kitchen. To Jess, accustomed to the mild but beautiful savor of a country town, the dreggy Bohemia was sugar and spice. She hung fish seines on the walls of her rooms, and bought a rakish-looking sideboard, and learned to play the banjo. Twice or thrice a week they dined at French or Italian tables d’hôte in a cloud of smoke, and brag and unshorn hair. Jess learned to drink a cocktail in order to get the cherry. At home she smoked a cigarette after dinner. She learned to pronounce Chianti, and leave her olive stones for the waiter to pick up. Once she essayed to say la, la, la! in a crowd but got only as far as the second one. They met one or two couples while dining out and became friendly with them. The sideboard was stocked with Scotch and rye and a liqueur. They had their new friends in to dinner and all were laughing at nothing by 1 A. M. Some plastering fell in the room below them, for which Bob had to pay $4.50. Thus they footed it merrily on the ragged frontiers of the country that has no boundary lines or government.</p>
@@ -81,7 +81,7 @@
 			<p>“Let me finish it,” said Jessie.</p>
 			<blockquote epub:type="z3998:song">
 				<p>
-					<span>“ ‘Would not we shatter it to bits⁠—and then<span>
+					<span>“ ‘Would not we shatter it to bits⁠—and then</span>
 					<br/>
 					<span>Remould it nearer to the Heart’s Desire!’ ”</span>
 				</p>