[Editorial] Remove quotation marks from self‐contained letter

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@@ -12,10 +12,10 @@
 				<p epub:type="title">A Letter from Home</p>
 			</hgroup>
 			<blockquote epub:type="z3998:letter">
-				<p>“<span epub:type="z3998:salutation">Dear Katherine</span>⁠—Living among grand friends as you are doing now, I don’t suppose you will care to hear any of our news; but as I always thought you were a sensible girl, perhaps you are a trifle less swollen-headed than I suppose. Everything goes on much the same here. There was great trouble about the new curate, who is scandalously high. In my view, he is neither more nor less than a Roman. Everybody has spoken to the Vicar about it, but you know what the Vicar is⁠—all Christian charity and no proper spirit. I have had a lot of trouble with maids lately. That girl Annie was no good⁠—skirts up to her knees and wouldn’t wear sensible woollen stockings. Not one of them can bear being spoken to. I have had a lot of pain with my rheumatism one way and another, and <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Dr.</abbr> Harris persuaded me to go and see a London specialist⁠—a waste of three guineas and a railway fare, as I told him; but by waiting until Wednesday I managed to get a cheap return. The London doctor pulled a long face and talked all round about and never straight out, until I said to him, ‘I’m a plain woman, Doctor, and I like things to be plainly stated. Is it cancer, or is it not?’ And then, of course, he had to say it was. They say a year with care, and not too much pain, though I’m sure I can bear pain as well as any other Christian woman. Life seems rather lonely at times, with most of my friends dead or gone before. I wish you were in <abbr>St.</abbr> Mary Mead, my dear, and that is a fact. If you hadn’t come into this money and gone off into grand society, I would have offered you double the salary poor Jane gave you to come and look after me; but there⁠—there’s no good wanting what we can’t get. However, if things should go ill with you⁠—and that is always possible. I have heard no end of tales of bogus noblemen marrying girls and getting hold of their money and then leaving them at the church door. I dare say you are too sensible for anything of the kind to happen to you, but one never knows; and never having had much attention of any kind it might easily go to your head now. So just in case, my dear, remember there is always a home for you here; and though a plainspoken woman I am a warmhearted one too.<span epub:type="z3998:valediction">—Your affectionate old friend,</span></p>
+				<p><span epub:type="z3998:salutation">Dear Katherine</span>⁠—Living among grand friends as you are doing now, I don’t suppose you will care to hear any of our news; but as I always thought you were a sensible girl, perhaps you are a trifle less swollen-headed than I suppose. Everything goes on much the same here. There was great trouble about the new curate, who is scandalously high. In my view, he is neither more nor less than a Roman. Everybody has spoken to the Vicar about it, but you know what the Vicar is⁠—all Christian charity and no proper spirit. I have had a lot of trouble with maids lately. That girl Annie was no good⁠—skirts up to her knees and wouldn’t wear sensible woollen stockings. Not one of them can bear being spoken to. I have had a lot of pain with my rheumatism one way and another, and <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Dr.</abbr> Harris persuaded me to go and see a London specialist⁠—a waste of three guineas and a railway fare, as I told him; but by waiting until Wednesday I managed to get a cheap return. The London doctor pulled a long face and talked all round about and never straight out, until I said to him, “I’m a plain woman, Doctor, and I like things to be plainly stated. Is it cancer, or is it not?” And then, of course, he had to say it was. They say a year with care, and not too much pain, though I’m sure I can bear pain as well as any other Christian woman. Life seems rather lonely at times, with most of my friends dead or gone before. I wish you were in <abbr>St.</abbr> Mary Mead, my dear, and that is a fact. If you hadn’t come into this money and gone off into grand society, I would have offered you double the salary poor Jane gave you to come and look after me; but there⁠—there’s no good wanting what we can’t get. However, if things should go ill with you⁠—and that is always possible. I have heard no end of tales of bogus noblemen marrying girls and getting hold of their money and then leaving them at the church door. I dare say you are too sensible for anything of the kind to happen to you, but one never knows; and never having had much attention of any kind it might easily go to your head now. So just in case, my dear, remember there is always a home for you here; and though a plainspoken woman I am a warmhearted one too.<span epub:type="z3998:valediction">—Your affectionate old friend,</span></p>
 				<footer>
-					<p epub:type="z3998:sender z3998:signature">“Amelia Viner.</p>
-					<p epub:type="z3998:postscript">“<abbr epub:type="z3998:initialism">P.S.</abbr>⁠—I saw a mention of you in the paper with your cousin, Viscountess Tamplin, and I cut it out and put it with my cuttings. I prayed for you on Sunday that you might be kept from pride and vainglory.”</p>
+					<p epub:type="z3998:sender z3998:signature">Amelia Viner.</p>
+					<p epub:type="z3998:postscript"><abbr epub:type="z3998:initialism">P.S.</abbr>⁠—I saw a mention of you in the paper with your cousin, Viscountess Tamplin, and I cut it out and put it with my cuttings. I prayed for you on Sunday that you might be kept from pride and vainglory.</p>
 				</footer>
 			</blockquote>
 			<p>Katherine read this characteristic epistle through twice, then she laid it down and stared out of her bedroom window across the blue waters of the Mediterranean. She felt a curious lump in her throat. A sudden wave of longing for <abbr>St.</abbr> Mary Mead swept over her. So full of familiar, everyday, stupid little things⁠—and yet⁠—home. She felt very inclined to lay her head down on her arms and indulge in a real good cry.</p>