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@@ -54,7 +54,7 @@
 			<p>Then the bishop was left alone for an hour to write the letter which <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Thumble was to carry over to <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Crawley⁠—and after a while he did write it. Before he commenced the task, however, he sat for some moments in his armchair close by the fireside, asking himself whether it might not be possible for him to overcome his enemy in this matter. How would it go with him suppose he were to leave the letter unwritten, and send in a message by his chaplain to <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mrs.</abbr> Proudie, saying that as <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Crawley was out on bail, the parish might be left for the present without episcopal interference? She could not make him interfere. She could not force him to write the letter. So, at least, he said to himself. But as he said it, he almost thought that she could do these things. In the last thirty years, or more, she had ever contrived by some power latent in her to have her will effected. But what would happen if now, even now, he were to rebel? That he would personally become very uncomfortable, he was well aware, but he thought that he could bear that. The food would become bad⁠—mere ashes between his teeth, the daily modicum of wine would lose its flavour, the chimneys would all smoke, the wind would come from the east, and the servants would not answer the bell. Little miseries of that kind would crowd upon him. He had arrived at a time of life in which such miseries make such men very miserable; but yet he thought that he could endure them. And what other wretchedness would come to him? She would scold him⁠—frightfully, loudly, scornfully, and worse than all, continually. But of this he had so much habitually, that anything added might be borne also;⁠—if only he could be sure that the scoldings should go on in private, that the world of the palace should not be allowed to hear the revilings to which he would be subjected. But to be scolded publicly was the great evil which he dreaded beyond all evils. He was well aware that the palace would know his misfortune, that it was known, and freely discussed by all, from the examining chaplain down to the palace boot-boy;⁠—nay, that it was known to all the diocese; but yet he could smile upon those around him, and look as though he held his own like other men⁠—unless when open violence was displayed. But when that voice was heard aloud along the corridors of the palace, and when he was summoned imperiously by the woman, calling for her bishop, so that all Barchester heard it, and when he was compelled to creep forth from his study, at the sound of that summons, with distressed face, and shaking hands, and short hurrying steps⁠—a being to be pitied even by a deacon⁠—not venturing to assume an air of masterdom should he chance to meet a housemaid on the stairs⁠—then, at such moments as that, he would feel that any submission was better than the misery which he suffered. And he well knew that should he now rebel, the whole house would be in a turmoil. He would be bishoped here, and bishoped there, before the eyes of all palatial men and women, till life would be a burden to him. So he got up from his seat over the fire, and went to his desk and wrote the letter. The letter was as follows:⁠—</p>
 			<blockquote epub:type="z3998:letter">
 				<header>
-					<p epub:type="se:letter.dateline">The Palace, Barchester, — December, 186-.</p>
+					<p epub:type="se:letter.dateline">The Palace, Barchester, — December, 186‒.</p>
 				</header>
 				<p><span epub:type="z3998:salutation">Reverend Sir</span>⁠—[he left out the dear, because he knew that if he inserted it he would be compelled to write the letter over again]</p>
 				<p>I have heard today with the greatest trouble of spirit, that you have been taken before a bench of magistrates assembled at Silverbridge, having been previously arrested by the police in your parsonage house at Hogglestock, and that the magistrates of Silverbridge have committed you to take your trial at the next assizes at Barchester, on a charge of theft.</p>

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@@ -42,7 +42,7 @@
 			<p>“Oh, ah, yes,” said <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Thumble; and after that <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Thumble asked no more questions about the Hogglestock school. Soon afterwards <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mrs.</abbr> Crawley left the room, seeing the difficulty under which <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Thumble was labouring, and feeling sure that her presence would not now be necessary. <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Crawley’s letter was written quickly, though every now and then he would sit for a moment with his pen poised in the air, searching his memory for a word. But the words came to him easily, and before an hour was over he had handed his letter to <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Thumble. The letter was as follows:⁠—</p>
 			<blockquote epub:type="z3998:letter">
 				<header>
-					<p epub:type="se:letter.dateline">The Parsonage, Hogglestock, — December, 186-.</p>
+					<p epub:type="se:letter.dateline">The Parsonage, Hogglestock, — December, 186‒.</p>
 				</header>
 				<p><span epub:type="z3998:salutation">Right Reverend Lord</span>,</p>
 				<p>I have received the letter of yesterday’s date which your lordship has done me the honour of sending to me by the hands of the Reverend <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Thumble, and I avail myself of that gentleman’s kindness to return to you an answer by the same means, moved thus to use his patience chiefly by the consideration that in this way my reply to your lordship’s injunctions may be in your hands with less delay than would attend the regular course of the mail-post.</p>

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@@ -19,7 +19,7 @@
 			<p>It might be presumed that when Miss Dale wrote to her friend Grace Crawley about going beyond friendship, pleading that there were so many “barriers,” she had probably seen her way over most of them. But this was not so; nor did John Eames himself at all believe that the barriers were in a way to be overcome. I will not say that he had given the whole thing up as a bad job, because it was the law of his life that the thing never should be abandoned as long as hope was possible. Unless Miss Dale should become the wife of somebody else, he would always regard himself as affianced to her. He had so declared to Miss Dale herself and to Miss Dale’s mother, and to all the Dale people who had ever been interested in the matter. And there was an old lady living in Miss Dale’s neighbourhood, the sister of the lord who had left Johnny Eames the bank shares, who always fought his battles for him, and kept a close lookout, fully resolved that John Eames should be rewarded at last. This old lady was connected with the Dales by family ties, and therefore had means of close observation. She was in constant correspondence with John Eames, and never failed to acquaint him when any of the barriers were, in her judgment, giving way. The nature of some of the barriers may possibly be made intelligible to my readers by the following letter from Lady Julia De Guest to her young friend.</p>
 			<blockquote epub:type="z3998:letter">
 				<header>
-					<p epub:type="se:letter.dateline">Guestwick Cottage, — December, 186-.</p>
+					<p epub:type="se:letter.dateline">Guestwick Cottage, — December, 186‒.</p>
 				</header>
 				<p><span epub:type="z3998:salutation">My dear John</span>,</p>
 				<p>I am much obliged to you for going to Jones’s. I send stamps for two shillings and fourpence, which is what I owe you. It used only to be two shillings and twopence, but they say everything has got to be dearer now, and I suppose pills as well as other things. Only think of Pritchard coming to me, and saying she wanted her wages raised, after living with me for twenty years! I was <em>very</em>angry, and scolded her roundly; but as she acknowledged she had been wrong, and cried and begged my pardon, I did give her two guineas a year more.</p>

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@@ -41,7 +41,7 @@
 			<p>But wretched as he was during that evening he did employ himself with some energy. After much thought he resolved that he would again write to <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Crawley, and summon him to appear at the palace. In doing this he would at any rate be doing something. There would be action. And though <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Crawley would, as he thought, decline to obey the order, something would be gained even by that disobedience. So he wrote his summons⁠—sitting very comfortless and all alone on that Sunday evening⁠—dating his letter, however, for the following day:⁠—</p>
 			<blockquote epub:type="z3998:letter">
 				<header>
-					<p epub:type="se:letter.dateline">Palace, December 20, 186-.</p>
+					<p epub:type="se:letter.dateline">Palace, December 20, 186‒.</p>
 				</header>
 				<p><span epub:type="z3998:salutation">Reverend Sir</span>,</p>
 				<p>I have just heard from <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Thumble that you have declined to accede to the advice which I thought it my duty to tender to you as the bishop who has been set over you by the Church, and that you yesterday insisted on what you believed to be your right, to administer the services in the parish church of Hogglestock. This has occasioned me the deepest regret. It is, I think, unavailing that I should further write to you my mind upon the subject, as I possess such strong evidence that my written word will not be respected by you. I have, therefore, no alternative now but to invite you to come to me here; and this I do, hoping that I may induce you to listen to that authority which I cannot but suppose you acknowledge to be vested in the office which I hold.</p>

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@@ -24,7 +24,7 @@
 			<p>And then, as luck would have it, Grace Crawley got up and left the room. Lily still waited for a few minutes, and, in order that her patience might be thoroughly exercised, she said a word or two about her sister Bell; how the eldest child’s whooping-cough was nearly well, and how the baby was doing wonderful things with its first tooth. But as <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mrs.</abbr> Dale had already seen Bell’s letter, all this was not intensely interesting. At last Lily came to the point and asked her question. “Mamma, from whom was that other letter which you got this morning?”</p>
 			<p>Our story will perhaps be best told by communicating the letter to the reader before it was discussed with Lily. The letter was as follows:⁠—</p>
 			<blockquote epub:type="z3998:letter">
-				<p epub:type="se:letter.dateline">General Committee Office, — January, 186-.</p>
+				<p epub:type="se:letter.dateline">General Committee Office, — January, 186‒.</p>
 			</blockquote>
 			<p>I should have said that <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mrs.</abbr> Dale had not opened the letter till she had found herself in the solitude of her own bedroom; and that then, before doing so, she had examined the handwriting with anxious eyes. When she first received it she thought she knew the writer, but was not sure. Then she had glanced at the impression over the fastening, and had known at once from whom the letter had come. It was from <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Crosbie, the man who had brought so much trouble into her house, who had jilted her daughter; the only man in the world whom she had a right to regard as a positive enemy to herself. She had no doubt about it, as she tore the envelope open; and yet, when the address given made her quite sure, a new feeling of shivering came upon her, and she asked herself whether it might not be better that she should send his letter back to him without reading it. But she read it.</p>
 			<p>“<span epub:type="z3998:salutation">Madam</span>,” the letter began⁠—</p>

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@@ -14,7 +14,7 @@
 			<p>About this time Grace Crawley received two letters, the first of them reaching her while John Eames was still at the cottage, and the other immediately after his return to London. They both help to tell our story, and our reader shall, therefore, read them if he so please⁠—or, rather, he shall read the first and as much of the second as is necessary for him. Grace’s answer to the first letter he shall see also. Her answer to the second will be told in a very few words. The first was from Major Grantly, and the task of answering that was by no means easy to Grace.</p>
 			<blockquote epub:type="z3998:letter">
 				<header>
-					<p epub:type="se:letter.dateline">Cosby Lodge, — February, 186-.</p>
+					<p epub:type="se:letter.dateline">Cosby Lodge, — February, 186‒.</p>
 				</header>
 				<p><span epub:type="z3998:salutation">Dearest Grace</span>,</p>
 				<p>I told you when I parted from you, that I should write to you, and I think it best to do so at once, in order that you may fully understand me. Spoken words are soon forgotten⁠—</p>

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@@ -88,7 +88,7 @@
 			<p><abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Harding, when he was left alone, began to turn the matter over in his mind and to reflect whether the thousand pities of which <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Toogood had spoken appertained to the conviction of the criminal, or the doing of the crime. “If he did steal the money I suppose he ought to be punished, let him be ever so much a clergyman,” said <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Harding to himself. But yet⁠—how terrible it would be! Of clergymen convicted of fraud in London he had often heard; but nothing of the kind had ever disgraced the diocese to which he belonged since he had known it. He could not teach himself to hope that <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Crawley should be acquitted if <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Crawley were guilty;⁠—but he could teach himself to believe that <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Crawley was innocent. Something of a doubt had crept across his mind as he talked to the lawyer. <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Toogood, though <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mrs.</abbr> Crawley was his cousin, seemed to believe that the money had been stolen; and <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Toogood as a lawyer ought to understand such matters better than an old secluded clergyman in Barchester. But, nevertheless, <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Toogood might be wrong; and <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Harding succeeded in satisfying himself at last that he could not be doing harm in thinking that <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Toogood was wrong. When he had made up his mind on this matter he sat down and wrote the following letter, which he addressed to his daughter at the post-office in Florence:⁠—</p>
 			<blockquote epub:type="z3998:letter">
 				<header>
-					<p epub:type="se:letter.dateline">Deanery, March —, 186-.</p>
+					<p epub:type="se:letter.dateline">Deanery, March —, 186‒.</p>
 				</header>
 				<p><span epub:type="z3998:salutation">Dearest Nelly</span>⁠—</p>
 				<p>When I wrote on Tuesday I told you about poor <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Crawley, that he was the clergyman in Barsetshire of whose misfortune you read an account in <i epub:type="se:name.publication.newspaper">Galignani’s Messenger</i>⁠—and I think Susan must have written about it also, because everybody here is talking of nothing else, and because, of course, we know how strong a regard the dean has for <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Crawley. But since that something has occurred which makes me write to you again⁠—at once. A gentleman has just been here, and has indeed only this moment left me, who tells me that he is an attorney in London, and that he is nearly related to <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mrs.</abbr> Crawley. He seems to be a very good-natured man, and I daresay he understands his business as a lawyer. His name is Toogood, and he has come down as he says to get evidence to help the poor gentleman on his trial. I cannot understand how this should be necessary, because it seems to me that the evidence should all be wanted on the other side. I cannot for a moment suppose that a clergyman and a gentleman such as <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Crawley should have stolen money, and if he is innocent I cannot understand why all this trouble should be necessary to prevent a jury finding him guilty.</p>

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@@ -22,7 +22,7 @@
 			<p>At the present moment Miss Dale was at home with her mother at Allington, and Grace Crawley in her terrible sorrow wrote to her friend, pouring out her whole heart. As Grace’s letter and Miss Dale’s answer will assist us in our story, I will venture to give them both.</p>
 			<blockquote epub:type="z3998:letter">
 				<header>
-					<p epub:type="se:letter.dateline">Silverbridge, — December, 186-.</p>
+					<p epub:type="se:letter.dateline">Silverbridge, — December, 186‒.</p>
 				</header>
 				<p epub:type="z3998:salutation">Dearest Lily,</p>
 				<p>I hardly know how to tell you what has happened, it is so very terrible. But perhaps you will have heard it already, as everybody is talking of it here. It has got into the newspapers, and therefore it cannot be kept secret. Not that I should keep anything from you; only this is so very dreadful that I hardly know how to write it. Somebody says⁠—a <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Soames, I believe it is⁠—that papa has taken some money that does not belong to him, and he is to be brought before the magistrates and tried. Of course papa has done nothing wrong. I do think he would be the last man in the world to take a penny that did not belong to him. You know how poor he is; what a life he has had! But I think he would almost sooner see mamma starving;⁠—I am sure he would rather be starved himself, than even borrow a shilling which he could not pay. To suppose that he would take money [she had tried to write the word “steal” but she could not bring her pen to form the letters] is monstrous. But, somehow, the circumstances have been made to look bad against him, and they say that he must come over here to the magistrates. I often think that of all men in the world papa is the most unfortunate. Everything seems to go against him, and yet he is so good! Poor mamma has been over here, and she is distracted. I never saw her so wretched before. She had been to your friend, <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Walker, and came to me afterwards for a minute. <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Walker has got something to do with it, though mamma says she thinks he is quite friendly to papa. I wonder whether you could find out, through <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Walker, what he thinks about it. Of course, mamma knows that papa has done nothing wrong; but she says that the whole thing is most mysterious, and that she does not know how to account for the money. Papa, you know, is not like other people. He forgets things; and is always thinking, thinking, thinking of his great misfortunes. Poor papa! My heart bleeds so when I remember all his sorrows, that I hate myself for thinking about myself.</p>
@@ -37,7 +37,7 @@
 			<p>The answer to this letter did not reach Miss Crawley till after the magistrates’ meeting on the Thursday, but it will be better for our story that it should be given here than postponed until the result of that meeting shall have been told. Miss Dale’s answer was as follows:⁠—</p>
 			<blockquote epub:type="z3998:letter">
 				<header>
-					<p epub:type="se:letter.dateline">Allington, — December, 186-.</p>
+					<p epub:type="se:letter.dateline">Allington, — December, 186‒.</p>
 				</header>
 				<p epub:type="z3998:salutation">Dear Grace,</p>
 				<p>Your letter has made me very unhappy. If it can at all comfort you to know that mamma and I sympathize with you altogether, in that you may at any rate be sure. But in such troubles nothing will give comfort. They must be borne, till the fire of misfortune burns itself out.</p>