Add z3998:name-title semantic to some abbreviations

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@@ -53,9 +53,9 @@
 			<p>Not for the first time. No, not for the first time. In Little Dorrit’s eyes, the outside of that window had been a distant star on other nights than this. She had toiled out of her way, tired and troubled, to look up at it, and wonder about the grave, brown gentleman from so far off, who had spoken to her as a friend and protector.</p>
 			<p>“There were three things,” said Little Dorrit, “that I thought I would like to say, if you were alone and I might come upstairs. First, what I have tried to say, but never can⁠—never shall⁠—”</p>
 			<p>“Hush, hush! That is done with, and disposed of. Let us pass to the second,” said Clennam, smiling her agitation away, making the blaze shine upon her, and putting wine and cake and fruit towards her on the table.</p>
-			<p>“I think,” said Little Dorrit⁠—“this is the second thing, sir⁠—I think <abbr>Mrs.</abbr> Clennam must have found out my secret, and must know where I come from and where I go to. Where I live, I mean.”</p>
+			<p>“I think,” said Little Dorrit⁠—“this is the second thing, sir⁠—I think <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mrs.</abbr> Clennam must have found out my secret, and must know where I come from and where I go to. Where I live, I mean.”</p>
 			<p>“Indeed!” returned Clennam quickly. He asked her, after short consideration, why she supposed so.</p>
-			<p>“I think,” replied Little Dorrit, “that <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Flintwinch must have watched me.”</p>
+			<p>“I think,” replied Little Dorrit, “that <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Flintwinch must have watched me.”</p>
 			<p>And why, Clennam asked, as he turned his eyes upon the fire, bent his brows, and considered again; why did she suppose that?</p>
 			<p>“I have met him twice. Both times near home. Both times at night, when I was going back. Both times I thought (though that may easily be my mistake), that he hardly looked as if he had met me by accident.”</p>
 			<p>“Did he say anything?”</p>
@@ -64,7 +64,7 @@
 			<p>He roused himself to persuade her to put some wine to her lips, and to touch something to eat⁠—it was very difficult, she was so timid and shy⁠—and then said, musing again:</p>
 			<p>“Is my mother at all changed to you?”</p>
 			<p>“Oh, not at all. She is just the same. I wondered whether I had better tell her my history. I wondered whether I might⁠—I mean, whether you would like me to tell her. I wondered,” said Little Dorrit, looking at him in a suppliant way, and gradually withdrawing her eyes as he looked at her, “whether you would advise me what I ought to do.”</p>
-			<p>“Little Dorrit,” said Clennam; and the phrase had already begun, between these two, to stand for a hundred gentle phrases, according to the varying tone and connection in which it was used; “do nothing. I will have some talk with my old friend, <abbr>Mrs.</abbr> Affery. Do nothing, Little Dorrit⁠—except refresh yourself with such means as there are here. I entreat you to do that.”</p>
+			<p>“Little Dorrit,” said Clennam; and the phrase had already begun, between these two, to stand for a hundred gentle phrases, according to the varying tone and connection in which it was used; “do nothing. I will have some talk with my old friend, <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mrs.</abbr> Affery. Do nothing, Little Dorrit⁠—except refresh yourself with such means as there are here. I entreat you to do that.”</p>
 			<p>“Thank you, I am not hungry. Nor,” said Little Dorrit, as he softly put her glass towards her, “nor thirsty.⁠—I think Maggy might like something, perhaps.”</p>
 			<p>“We will make her find pockets presently for all there is here,” said Clennam: “but before we awake her, there was a third thing to say.”</p>
 			<p>“Yes. You will not be offended, sir?”</p>
@@ -98,7 +98,7 @@
 			<p>It was a chill dark night, with a damp wind blowing, when they came out into the leading street again, and heard the clocks strike half-past one. “In only five hours and a half,” said Little Dorrit, “we shall be able to go home.” To speak of home, and to go and look at it, it being so near, was a natural sequence. They went to the closed gate, and peeped through into the courtyard. “I hope he is sound asleep,” said Little Dorrit, kissing one of the bars, “and does not miss me.”</p>
 			<p>The gate was so familiar, and so like a companion, that they put down Maggy’s basket in a corner to serve for a seat, and keeping close together, rested there for some time. While the street was empty and silent, Little Dorrit was not afraid; but when she heard a footstep at a distance, or saw a moving shadow among the street lamps, she was startled, and whispered, “Maggy, I see someone. Come away!” Maggy would then wake up more or less fretfully, and they would wander about a little, and come back again.</p>
 			<p>As long as eating was a novelty and an amusement, Maggy kept up pretty well. But that period going by, she became querulous about the cold, and shivered and whimpered. “It will soon be over, dear,” said Little Dorrit patiently. “Oh it’s all very fine for you, little mother,” returned Maggy, “but I’m a poor thing, only ten years old.” At last, in the dead of the night, when the street was very still indeed, Little Dorrit laid the heavy head upon her bosom, and soothed her to sleep. And thus she sat at the gate, as it were alone; looking up at the stars, and seeing the clouds pass over them in their wild flight⁠—which was the dance at Little Dorrit’s party.</p>
-			<p>“If it really was a party!” she thought once, as she sat there. “If it was light and warm and beautiful, and it was our house, and my poor dear was its master, and had never been inside these walls. And if <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Clennam was one of our visitors, and we were dancing to delightful music, and were all as gay and lighthearted as ever we could be! I wonder⁠—” Such a vista of wonder opened out before her, that she sat looking up at the stars, quite lost, until Maggy was querulous again, and wanted to get up and walk.</p>
+			<p>“If it really was a party!” she thought once, as she sat there. “If it was light and warm and beautiful, and it was our house, and my poor dear was its master, and had never been inside these walls. And if <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Clennam was one of our visitors, and we were dancing to delightful music, and were all as gay and lighthearted as ever we could be! I wonder⁠—” Such a vista of wonder opened out before her, that she sat looking up at the stars, quite lost, until Maggy was querulous again, and wanted to get up and walk.</p>
 			<p>Three o’clock, and half-past three, and they had passed over London Bridge. They had heard the rush of the tide against obstacles; and looked down, awed, through the dark vapour on the river; had seen little spots of lighted water where the bridge lamps were reflected, shining like demon eyes, with a terrible fascination in them for guilt and misery. They had shrunk past homeless people, lying coiled up in nooks. They had run from drunkards. They had started from slinking men, whistling and signing to one another at bye corners, or running away at full speed. Though everywhere the leader and the guide, Little Dorrit, happy for once in her youthful appearance, feigned to cling to and rely upon Maggy. And more than once some voice, from among a knot of brawling or prowling figures in their path, had called out to the rest to “let the woman and the child go by!”</p>
 			<p>So, the woman and the child had gone by, and gone on, and five had sounded from the steeples. They were walking slowly towards the east, already looking for the first pale streak of day, when a woman came after them.</p>
 			<p>“What are you doing with the child?” she said to Maggy.</p>
@@ -137,7 +137,7 @@
 			<p>“Quite true, till last night.”</p>
 			<p>“Lord!” But his surveying her with an admiring gaze suggested Something else to him, to wit: “I am sorry to see, though, that you are faint and tired. Stay a bit. I’ll get some cushions out of the church, and you and your friend shall lie down before the fire. Don’t be afraid of not going in to join your father when the gate opens. <em>I’ll</em> call you.”</p>
 			<p>He soon brought in the cushions, and strewed them on the ground.</p>
-			<p>“There you are, you see. Again as large as life. Oh, never mind thanking. I’ve daughters of my own. And though they weren’t born in the Marshalsea Prison, they might have been, if I had been, in my ways of carrying on, of your father’s breed. Stop a bit. I must put something under the cushion for your head. Here’s a burial volume, just the thing! We have got <abbr>Mrs.</abbr> Bangham in this book. But what makes these books interesting to most people is⁠—not who’s in ’em, but who isn’t⁠—who’s coming, you know, and when. That’s the interesting question.”</p>
+			<p>“There you are, you see. Again as large as life. Oh, never mind thanking. I’ve daughters of my own. And though they weren’t born in the Marshalsea Prison, they might have been, if I had been, in my ways of carrying on, of your father’s breed. Stop a bit. I must put something under the cushion for your head. Here’s a burial volume, just the thing! We have got <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mrs.</abbr> Bangham in this book. But what makes these books interesting to most people is⁠—not who’s in ’em, but who isn’t⁠—who’s coming, you know, and when. That’s the interesting question.”</p>
 			<p>Commendingly looking back at the pillow he had improvised, he left them to their hour’s repose. Maggy was snoring already, and Little Dorrit was soon fast asleep with her head resting on that sealed book of Fate, untroubled by its mysterious blank leaves.</p>
 			<p>This was Little Dorrit’s party. The shame, desertion, wretchedness, and exposure of the great capital; the wet, the cold, the slow hours, and the swift clouds of the dismal night. This was the party from which Little Dorrit went home, jaded, in the first grey mist of a rainy morning.</p>
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