[Editorial] Remove some scare quotes

src/epub/text/the-man-who-hated-amelia-jones.xhtml

@@ -45,20 +45,20 @@
 			<p>Only by his artistry he contrived to appear just as he wished to appear, an extremely poor man. His collar was clean, but frayed. His boots were beautifully polished, but they were old and patched. He did not permit the crudity of a heel worn down, but had fixed two circular rubber heels just a little too large for their foundations.</p>
 			<p>“You are an old clerk battling with poverty, and striving to the end to be genteel,” said Manfred.</p>
 			<p>Gonsalez shook his head.</p>
-			<p>“I am a solicitor who, twenty years ago, was struck off the rolls and ruined because I helped a man to escape the processes of the law. An ever so much more sympathetic role, George. Moreover, it brings people to me for advice. One of these nights you must come down to the public bar of the ‘Cow and Compasses’ and hear me discourse upon the Married Woman’s Property Act.”</p>
+			<p>“I am a solicitor who, twenty years ago, was struck off the rolls and ruined because I helped a man to escape the processes of the law. An ever so much more sympathetic role, George. Moreover, it brings people to me for advice. One of these nights you must come down to the public bar of the Cow and Compasses and hear me discourse upon the Married Woman’s Property Act.”</p>
 			<p>“I never asked you what you were before,” said George. “Good hunting, Leon, and my respectful salutations to Amelia Jones!”</p>
 			<p>Gonsalez was biting his lips thoughtfully and looking into the fire and now he nodded.</p>
 			<p>“Poor Amelia Jones?” he said softly.</p>
 			<p>“You’re a wonderful fellow,” smiled Manfred, “only you could invest a charwoman of middle age with the glamour of romance.”</p>
 			<p>Leon was helping himself into a threadbare overcoat.</p>
 			<p>“There was an English poet once⁠—it was Pope, I think⁠—who said that everybody was romantic who admired a fine thing, or did one. I rather think Amelia Jones has done both.”</p>
-			<p>The “Cow and Compasses” is a small public-house in Treet Road, Deptford. The gloomy thoroughfare was well-nigh empty, for it was a grey cold night when Leon turned into the bar. The uninviting weather may have been responsible for the paucity of clients that evening, for there were scarcely half a dozen people on the sanded floor when he made his way to the bar and ordered a claret and soda.</p>
+			<p>The Cow and Compasses is a small public-house in Treet Road, Deptford. The gloomy thoroughfare was well-nigh empty, for it was a grey cold night when Leon turned into the bar. The uninviting weather may have been responsible for the paucity of clients that evening, for there were scarcely half a dozen people on the sanded floor when he made his way to the bar and ordered a claret and soda.</p>
 			<p>One who had been watching for him started up from the deal form on which she had been sitting and subsided again when he walked toward her with glass in hand.</p>
 			<p>“Well, <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mrs.</abbr> Jones,” he greeted her, “and how are you this evening?”</p>
 			<p>She was a stout woman with a white worn face and hands that trembled spasmodically.</p>
 			<p>“I am glad you’ve come, sir,” she said.</p>
 			<p>She held a little glass of port in her hand, but it was barely touched. It was on one desperate night when in an agony of terror and fear this woman had fled from her lonely home to the light and comfort of the public-house that Leon had met her. He was at the time pursuing with the greatest caution a fascinating skull which he had seen on the broad shoulders of a Covent Garden porter. He had tracked the owner to his home and to his place of recreation and was beginning to work up to his objective, which was to secure the history and the measurements of this unimaginative bearer of fruit, when the stout charwoman had drifted into his orbit. Tonight she evidently had something on her mind of unusual importance, for she made three lame beginnings before she plunged into the matter which was agitating her.</p>
-			<p>“<abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Lucas” (this was the name Gonsalez had given to the habitués of the “Cow and Compasses”), “I want to ask you a great favour. You’ve been very kind to me, giving me advice about my husband, and all that. But this is a big favour and you’re a very busy gentleman, too.”</p>
+			<p>“<abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Lucas” (this was the name Gonsalez had given to the habitués of the Cow and Compasses), “I want to ask you a great favour. You’ve been very kind to me, giving me advice about my husband, and all that. But this is a big favour and you’re a very busy gentleman, too.”</p>
 			<p>She looked at him appealingly, almost pleadingly.</p>
 			<p>“I have plenty of time just now,” said Gonsalez.</p>
 			<p>“Would you come with me into the country tomorrow?” she asked. “I want you to⁠—to⁠—to see somebody.”</p>

src/epub/text/the-man-who-was-plucked.xhtml

@@ -193,7 +193,7 @@
 			<p>“No more and no less,” said the practical Leon, “in fact the ‘knockout-drop’ which is so popular in criminal circles.”</p>
 			<p>He searched the man, took out his keys, opened the safe and removing the sealed packet, he carried it to the table. Then he looked thoughtfully at the prostrate man.</p>
 			<p>“He will only be completely under the ‘drop’ for five minutes, Manfred, but I think that will be enough.”</p>
-			<p>“Have you stopped to consider what will be the pathological results of ‘twilight sleep’ on top of butyl?” asked Manfred. “I saw you blending the hyocine with the morphia before we left Jermyn Street and I suppose that is what you are using?”</p>
+			<p>“Have you stopped to consider what will be the pathological results of twilight sleep on top of butyl?” asked Manfred. “I saw you blending the hyocine with the morphia before we left Jermyn Street and I suppose that is what you are using?”</p>
 			<p>“I did not look it up,” replied Gonsalez carelessly, “and if he dies, shall I weep? Give him another dose in half an hour, George. I will return by then.”</p>
 			<p>He took from his pocket a small black case, and opened it; the hypodermic syringe it contained was already charged, and rolling back the man’s sleeve, he inserted the needle and pressed home the piston.</p>
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