Add z3998:name-title semantic to some abbreviations

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@@ -30,7 +30,7 @@
 			<p>The mitten pawed again until it touched Kelgarries’ arm; then it flexed a little as if the hand under it was trying to grip.</p>
 			<p>“Safe⁠—?”</p>
 			<p>“You bet you are!” The major’s tone carried firm reassurance. Now Kelgarries looked up at Ross as if he knew the other had been there all the time.</p>
-			<p>“Murdock, get down to the end room. Call <abbr>Dr.</abbr> Farrell!”</p>
+			<p>“Murdock, get down to the end room. Call <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Dr.</abbr> Farrell!”</p>
 			<p>“Yes, sir!” The “sir” came so automatically that Ross had already reached the end room before he realized he had used it.</p>
 			<p>Nobody explained matters to Ross Murdock. The bandaged Hardy was claimed by the doctor and two attendants and carried away, the major walking beside the stretcher, still holding one of the mittened hands in his. Ross hesitated, sure he was not supposed to follow, but not ready either to explore farther or return to his own room. The sight of Hardy, whoever he might be, had radically changed Ross’s conception of the project he had too speedily volunteered to join.</p>
 			<p>That what they did here was important, Ross had never doubted. That it was dangerous, he had early suspected. But his awareness had been an abstract concept of danger, not connected with such concrete evidence as Hardy crawling through the dark. From the first, Ross had nursed vague plans for escape; now he knew he must get out of this place lest he end up a twin for Hardy.</p>

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@@ -9,7 +9,7 @@
 		<section id="chapter-8" epub:type="chapter">
 			<h2 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">VIII</h2>
 			<p>“… and that is about all.” Ten days later Ashe, a dressing on his leg and a few of the pain lines smoothed from his face, sat on a bunk in the arctic time post nursing a mug of coffee in his hands and smiling, a little crookedly, at Nelson Millaird.</p>
-			<p>Millaird, Kelgarries, <abbr>Dr.</abbr> Webb, all the top brass of the project had not only come through the transfer point to meet the three from Britain but were now crammed into the room, nearly pushing Ross and McNeil through the wall. Because this was it! What they had hunted for months⁠—years⁠—now lay almost within their grasp.</p>
+			<p>Millaird, Kelgarries, <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Dr.</abbr> Webb, all the top brass of the project had not only come through the transfer point to meet the three from Britain but were now crammed into the room, nearly pushing Ross and McNeil through the wall. Because this was it! What they had hunted for months⁠—years⁠—now lay almost within their grasp.</p>
 			<p>Only Millaird, the director, did not seem so confident. A big man with a bushy thatch of coarse graying hair and a heavy, fleshy face, he did not look like a brain. Yet Ross had been on the roster long enough to know that it was Millaird’s thick and hairy hands that gathered together all the loose threads of Operation Retrograde and deftly wove them into a workable pattern. Now the director leaned back in a chair which was too small for his bulk, chewing thoughtfully on a toothpick.</p>
 			<p>“So we have the first whiff of a trail,” he commented without elation.</p>
 			<p>“A pretty strong lead!” Kelgarries broke in. Too excited to sit still, the major stood with his back against the door, as alert as if he were about to turn and face the enemy. “The Reds wouldn’t have moved against Gog if they did not consider it a menace to them. Their big base must be in this time sector!”</p>