Fix multi-paragraph blockquote rendering for kramdown

_posts/1900-01-03-quick-ride.md

@@ -146,11 +146,11 @@ farm of inky foxes.
 
 > **Sensible Hipster Standing on Curb in Urban Wilderness**: He calls himself
 > the lucky stiff.
-
+>
 > (Pulls aside curtain to reveal gray corpse on a gurney.)
-
+>
 > **Hipster**: Some stiffs ain’t so lucky.
-
+>
 > (Erratic zoom in. Superimposed cartoon foxes for subliminal Willy Wonka mind
 > trip.)
 

_posts/1900-01-05-them-what.md

@@ -806,25 +806,25 @@ I got a kick out of the end of her article. Here you go.
 > the vicinity. Attentive of all sides, he lowered himself from the saddle
 > gently, slowing to a pace which must be measured in micrometers per second to
 > be appreciated.
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+>
 > Those of us in his company found ourselves with maws agape, watching his boot
 > touch down upon the ground. So precise and clean a step that it seemed it
 > would never meet the earth, only hover slight above it. Then, before the
 > landing had actually registered with any of us, we were off to the cuisine,
 > whisked away in the shroud of gaiety that was always right in front of Harold
 > Cham, always just behind him, and most especially concentrate directly in his
 > own luminary self.
-
+>
 > He also carried loosely at his side a capitally ignorant statesman’s daughter,
 > who spared us no leave from her constant criticisms of atheists and railway
 > routes.
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+>
 > “At home, my efforts to light a candle were trounced upon by further train
 > rumblings, which thrusted the match in my hand nearer the curtains!” She
 > derided Dr. Cham for his waning grip on her forearm and became jealous when he
 > was able to tune into a pleasurable woman’s voice on the radio once we
 > returned to the residence.
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+>
 > The dusk did settle, however, and we found ourselves in a communal daze
 > beneath the thick particles of cotton drift that wafted through the polished
 > piano room, quite entertained by the _Afternoon Nap Program_, which played