Use no-break hyphen for sounds

src/epub/content.opf

@@ -66,7 +66,7 @@
 		<dc:source>https://archive.org/details/sim_our-world_1923-12_4_3</dc:source>
 		<!-- Gambrinus and Other Stories -->
 		<dc:source>https://catalog.hathitrust.org/Record/001059695</dc:source>
-		<meta property="se:word-count">284129</meta>
+		<meta property="se:word-count">284147</meta>
 		<meta property="se:reading-ease.flesch">71.85</meta>
 		<meta property="se:url.vcs.github">https://github.com/standardebooks/aleksandr-kuprin_short-fiction_s-koteliansky_j-m-murry_stephen-graham_rosa-savory-graham_leo-pasvols</meta>
 		<dc:creator id="author">Aleksandr Kuprin</dc:creator>

src/epub/text/the-white-poodle.xhtml

@@ -68,14 +68,14 @@
 				<p>The women in the aprons clapped their hands and chirped quickly-quickly, in seemingly passionate and frightened voices. The red-nosed girl made tragic gestures, and cried out something evidently very touching, but completely incomprehensible, as it was in a foreign language. The gentleman in the gold spectacles made speeches to the boy in a reasoning bass voice, wagged his head to and fro as he spoke, and slowly waved his hands up and down. And the beautiful, delicate⁠—looking lady moaned wearily, pressing a lace handkerchief to her eyes.</p>
 				<p>“Ah, Trilly, ah, God in Heaven!⁠ ⁠… Angel mine, I beseech you, listen, your own mother begs you. Now do, do take the medicine, take it and you’ll see, you’ll feel better at once, and the stomachache will go away and the headache. Now do it for me, my joy! Oh, Trilly, if you want it, your mamma will go down on her knees. See, darling, I’m on my knees before you. If you wish it, I’ll give you gold⁠—a sovereign, two sovereigns, five sovereigns. Trilly, would you like a live ass? Would you like a live horse? Oh, for goodness’ sake, say something to him, doctor.”</p>
 				<p>“Pay attention, Trilly. Be a man!” droned the stout gentleman in the spectacles.</p>
-				<p>“<i>Ai-yai-yai-ya-a-a-a!</i>” yelled the boy, squirming on the ground, and kicking about desperately with his feet.</p>
+				<p>“<i>Ai‑yai‑yai‑ya‑a‑a‑a!</i>” yelled the boy, squirming on the ground, and kicking about desperately with his feet.</p>
 				<p>Despite his extreme agitation he managed to give several kicks to the people around him, and they, for their part, got out of his way sufficiently cleverly.</p>
 				<p>Sergey looked upon the scene with curiosity and astonishment, and at last nudged the old man in the side and said:</p>
 				<p>“Grandfather Lodishkin, what’s the matter with him? Can’t they give him a beating?”</p>
 				<p>“A beating⁠—I like that.⁠ ⁠… That sort isn’t beaten, but beats everybody else. A crazy boy; ill, I expect.”</p>
 				<p>“Insane?” enquired Sergey.</p>
 				<p>“How should I know? <i>Hst</i>, be quiet!⁠ ⁠…”</p>
-				<p>“<i>Ai-yai-ya-a!</i> Scum, fatheads!” shouted the boy, louder and louder.</p>
+				<p>“<i>Ai‑yai‑ya‑a!</i> Scum, fatheads!” shouted the boy, louder and louder.</p>
 				<p>“Well, begin, Sergey. Now’s the time, for I know!” ordered Lodishkin suddenly, taking hold of the handle of his organ and turning it with resolution. The snuffling and false notes of the ancient galop rose in the garden. All the people stopped suddenly and looked round; even the boy became silent for a few seconds.</p>
 				<p>“Ah, God in heaven, they will upset my poor Trilly still more!” cried the lady in the blue dressing-jacket, with tears in her eyes. “Chase them off, quickly, quickly. Drive them away, and the dirty dog with them. Dogs have always such dreadful diseases. Why do you stand there helplessly, Ivan, as if you were turned to stone?” She shook her handkerchief wearily in the direction of grandfather and the little boy; the lean, red-nosed girl made dreadful eyes; someone gave a threatening whisper; the lackey in the dress coat ran swiftly from the balcony on his tiptoes, and, with an expression of horror on his face, cried to the organ grinder, spreading out his arms like wings as he spoke:</p>
 				<p>“Whatever does it mean⁠—who permitted them⁠—who let them through? March! Clear out!⁠ ⁠…”</p>
@@ -85,7 +85,7 @@
 				<p>His whole fat face turned purple, and his eyes protruded to such a degree that they looked as if they would suddenly roll out and run away like wheels. The sight was so dreadful that grandfather involuntarily took two steps backward.</p>
 				<p>“Put the things up, Sergey,” said he, hurriedly jolting the organ on to his back. “Come on!”</p>
 				<p>But they had not succeeded in taking more than ten steps when the child began to shriek even worse than ever:</p>
-				<p>“<i>Ai-yai-yai!</i> Give it me! I wa‑ant it! <i>A-a-a!</i> Give it! Call them back! Me!”</p>
+				<p>“<i>Ai‑yai‑yai!</i> Give it me! I wa‑ant it! <i>A‑a‑a!</i> Give it! Call them back! Me!”</p>
 				<p>“But, Trilly!⁠ ⁠… Ah, God in heaven, Trilly; ah, call them back!” moaned the nervous lady. “<i>Tfu</i>, how stupid you all are!⁠ ⁠… Ivan, don’t you hear when you’re told? Go at once and call those beggars back!⁠ ⁠…”</p>
 				<p>“Certainly! You! Hey, what d’you call yourselves? Organ grinders! Come back!” cried several voices at once.</p>
 				<p>The stout lackey jumped across the lawn, his side-whiskers waving in the wind, and, overtaking the artistes, cried out:</p>
@@ -95,7 +95,7 @@
 				<p>Under cover of the hoarse music of the galop, Sergey spread his little mattress, pulled off his canvas breeches⁠—they had been cut out of an old sack, and behind, at the broadest part, were ornamented by a quadrilateral trade mark of a factory⁠—threw from his body his torn shirt, and stood erect in his cotton underclothes. In spite of the many mends on these garments he was a pretty figure of a boy, lithe and strong. He had a little programme of acrobatic tricks which he had learnt by watching his elders in the arena of the circus. Running to the mattress he would put both hands to his lips, and, with a passionate gesture, wave two theatrical kisses to the audience. So his performance began.</p>
 				<p>Grandfather turned the handle of the organ without ceasing, and whilst the boy juggled various objects in the air the old music-machine gave forth its trembling, coughing tunes. Sergey’s repertoire was not a large one, but he did it well and with enthusiasm. He threw up into the air an empty beer-bottle, so that it revolved several times in its flight, and suddenly catching it neck downward on the edge of a tray he balanced it there for several seconds; he juggled four balls and two candles, catching the latter simultaneously in two candlesticks; he played with a fan, a wooden cigar and an umbrella, throwing them to and fro in the air, and at last having the open umbrella in his hand shielding his head, the cigar in his mouth, and the fan coquettishly waving in his other hand. Then he turned several somersaults on the mattress; did “the frog”; tied himself into an American knot; walked on his hands, and having exhausted his little programme sent once more two kisses to the public, and, panting from the exercise, ran to grandfather to take his place at the organ.</p>
 				<p>Now was Arto’s turn. This the dog perfectly well knew, and he had for some time been prancing round in excitement, and barking nervously. Perhaps the clever poodle wished to say that, in his opinion, it was unreasonable to go through acrobatic performances when Réaumur showed thirty-two degrees in the shade. But grandfather Lodishkin, with a cunning grin, pulled out of his coattail pocket a slender kizil switch. Arto’s eyes took a melancholy expression. “Didn’t I know it!” they seemed to say, and he lazily and insubmissively raised himself on his hind paws, never once ceasing to look at his master and blink.</p>
-				<p>“Serve, Arto! So, so, so⁠ ⁠… ,” ordered the old man, holding the switch over the poodle’s head. “Over. So. Turn⁠ ⁠… again⁠ ⁠… again.⁠ ⁠… Dance, doggie, dance! Sit! Wha‑at? Don’t want to? Sit when you’re told! <i>A-a.</i>⁠ ⁠… That’s right! Now look! Salute the respected public. Now, Arto!” cried Lodishkin threateningly.</p>
+				<p>“Serve, Arto! So, so, so⁠ ⁠… ,” ordered the old man, holding the switch over the poodle’s head. “Over. So. Turn⁠ ⁠… again⁠ ⁠… again.⁠ ⁠… Dance, doggie, dance! Sit! Wha‑at? Don’t want to? Sit when you’re told! <i>A‑a.</i>⁠ ⁠… That’s right! Now look! Salute the respected public. Now, Arto!” cried Lodishkin threateningly.</p>
 				<p>“<i>Gaff!</i>” barked the poodle in disgust. Then he followed his master mournfully with his eyes, and added twice more, “<i>Gaff, gaff.</i>”</p>
 				<p>“No, my old man doesn’t understand me,” this discontented barking seemed to say.</p>
 				<p>“That’s it, that’s better. Politeness before everything. Now we’ll have a little jump,” continued the old man, holding out the twig at a short distance above the ground. “<i xml:lang="fr">Allez!</i> There’s nothing to hang out your tongue about, brother. <i xml:lang="fr">Allez!</i> <i>Gop!</i> Splendid! And now, please, <i xml:lang="de">noch ein mal⁠ ⁠…</i> <i xml:lang="fr">Allez!⁠ ⁠…</i> <i>Gop!</i> <i xml:lang="fr">Allez!</i> <i>Gop!</i> Wonderful doggie. When you get home you shall have carrots. You don’t like carrots, eh? Ah, I’d completely forgotten. Then take my silk topper and ask the folk. P’raps they’ll give you something a little more tasty.”</p>
@@ -114,7 +114,7 @@
 				<p>Grandfather removed his cap, and his face took on a respectfully piteous expression.</p>
 				<p>“As much as your kindness will think fit, my lady, your Excellency.⁠ ⁠… We are people in a small way, and anything is a blessing for us.⁠ ⁠… Probably you will not do anything to offend an old man.⁠ ⁠…”</p>
 				<p>“Ah, how senseless! Trilly, you’ll make your little throat ache.⁠ ⁠… Don’t you grasp the fact that the dog is <em>yours</em> and not mine.⁠ ⁠… Now, how much do you say? Ten? Fifteen? Twenty?”</p>
-				<p>“<i>A-a-a</i>; I wa‑ant it, give me the dog, give me the dog,” squealed the boy, kicking the round stomach of the lackey who happened to be near.</p>
+				<p>“<i>A‑a‑a</i>; I wa‑ant it, give me the dog, give me the dog,” squealed the boy, kicking the round stomach of the lackey who happened to be near.</p>
 				<p>“That is⁠ ⁠… forgive me, your Serenity,” stuttered Lodishkin. “You see, I’m an old man, stupid.⁠ ⁠… It’s difficult to understand at once.⁠ ⁠… What’s more, I’m a bit deaf⁠ ⁠… so I ought to ask, in short, what were you wishing to say?⁠ ⁠… For the dog?⁠ ⁠…”</p>
 				<p>“Ah, God in heaven! It seems to me you’re playing the idiot on purpose,” said the lady, boiling over. “Nurse, give Trilly some water at once! I ask you, in the Russian language, for how much do you wish to sell your dog? Do you understand⁠—your dog, dog?⁠ ⁠…”</p>
 				<p>“The dog! The do‑og!” cried the boy, louder than ever.</p>
@@ -148,7 +148,7 @@
 				<p>Arto barked unceasingly, and jumped about the shore. He was very much upset to see the boy swimming out so far. “What’s the use of showing off one’s bravery?” worried the poodle. “Isn’t there the earth, and isn’t that good enough to go on, and much calmer?”</p>
 				<p>He went into the water two or three times himself, and lapped the waves with his tongue. But he didn’t like the salt water, and was afraid of the little waves rolling over the pebbles towards him. He jumped back to dry sand, and at once set himself to bark at Sergey. “Why these silly, silly tricks? Why not come and sit down on the beach by the side of the old man? Dear, dear, what a lot of anxiety that boy does give us!”</p>
 				<p>“Hey, Serozha, time to come out, anyway. You’ve had enough,” cried the old man.</p>
-				<p>“In a minute, grandfather Lodishkin,” the boy cried back. “Just look how I do the steamboat. <i>U-u-u-ukh!</i>”</p>
+				<p>“In a minute, grandfather Lodishkin,” the boy cried back. “Just look how I do the steamboat. <i>U‑u‑u‑ukh!</i>”</p>
 				<p>At last he swam in to the shore, but, before dressing, he caught Arto in his arms, and returning with him to the water’s edge, flung him as far as he could. The dog at once swam back, leaving above the surface of the water his nostrils and floating ears alone, and snorting loudly and offendedly. Reaching dry sand, he shook his whole body violently, and clouds of water flew on the old man and on Sergey.</p>
 				<p>“Serozha, boy, look, surely that’s for us!” said Lodishkin suddenly, staring upwards towards the cliff.</p>
 				<p>Along the downward path they saw that same gloomy-looking yard porter in the rose-coloured blouse with the speckled pattern, waving his arms and crying out to them, though they could not make out what he was saying, the same fellow who, a quarter of an hour ago, had driven the vagabond troupe from the villa.</p>

src/epub/text/the-witch.xhtml

@@ -454,9 +454,9 @@
 				<p>“What do I stand to lose?” The sergeant rose in his chair. “Good God! I stand to lose everything⁠—my job, first of all. Who knows what sort of a man this new landlord, Ilyashevich is? Perhaps he’s an underhand devil, one of the sort who get hold of a bit of paper and a pen on the slightest provocation, and send a little report to Petersburg? There are men of the kind!”</p>
 				<p>I tried to reassure the agitated sergeant.</p>
 				<p>“That’s enough, Evpsychyi Afrikanovich! You’re exaggerating the whole affair. After all, a risk’s a risk, and gratitude’s gratitude.”</p>
-				<p>“<i>Ph-e-w!</i>” The sergeant gave a long-drawn whistle and thrust his hands into his trouser-pockets. “It’s gratitude, is it? Do you think I’m going to stake my official position for three pounds? No, you’ve got a wrong idea of me.”</p>
+				<p>“<i>Ph‑e‑w!</i>” The sergeant gave a long-drawn whistle and thrust his hands into his trouser-pockets. “It’s gratitude, is it? Do you think I’m going to stake my official position for three pounds? No, you’ve got a wrong idea of me.”</p>
 				<p>“But what are you getting warm about, Evpsychyi Afrikanovich? The amount isn’t the point, just simply⁠—well, let’s say, for humanity’s sake⁠—”</p>
-				<p>“For hu-man-i-ty’s sake?” He hammered out each syllable. “I’m full up to here with your humanity!” He tapped vigorously on the bronzed nape of his mighty neck which hung down over his collar in a fat, hairless fold.</p>
+				<p>“For hu‑man‑i‑ty’s sake?” He hammered out each syllable. “I’m full up to here with your humanity!” He tapped vigorously on the bronzed nape of his mighty neck which hung down over his collar in a fat, hairless fold.</p>
 				<p>“That’s a bit too strong, Evpsychyi Afrikanovich.”</p>
 				<p>“Not a bit too strong! ‘They’re the plague of the place,’ as <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Krylov, the famous fable-writer, said. That’s what these two ladies are. You don’t happen to have read that splendid work, by His Excellency Count Urussov, called <i epub:type="se:name.publication.book">The Police Sergeant</i>?”</p>
 				<p>“No, I haven’t.”</p>