Move possessives inside persona elements

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 						<td epub:type="z3998:persona">Yank</td>
-						<td>Aw, yuh crazy Mick! <i epub:type="z3998:stage-direction">He springs to his feet and advances on <b epub:type="z3998:persona">Paddy</b> threateningly⁠—then stops, fighting some queer struggle within himself⁠—lets his hands fall to his sides⁠—contemptuously.</i> Aw, take it easy. Yuh’re aw right, at dat. Yuh’re bugs, dat’s all⁠—nutty as a cuckoo. All dat tripe yuh been pullin’⁠—Aw, dat’s all right. On’y it’s dead, get me? Yuh don’t belong no more, see. Yuh don’t get de stuff. Yuh’re too old. <i epub:type="z3998:stage-direction">Disgustedly.</i> But aw say, come up for air onct in a while, can’t yuh? See what’s happened since yuh croaked. <i epub:type="z3998:stage-direction">He suddenly bursts forth vehemently, growing more and more excited.</i> Say! Sure! Sure I meant it! What de hell⁠—Say, lemme talk! Hey! Hey, you old Harp! Hey, youse guys! Say, listen to me⁠—wait a moment⁠—I gotter talk, see. I belong and he don’t. He’s dead but I’m livin’. Listen to me! Sure I’m part of de engines! Why de hell not! Dey move, don’t dey? Dey’re speed, ain’t dey? Dey smash trou, don’t dey? Twenty-five knots a hour! Dat’s goin’ some! Dat’s new stuff! Dat belongs! But him, he’s too old. He gets dizzy. Say, listen. All dat crazy tripe about nights and days; all dat crazy tripe about stars and moons; all dat crazy tripe about suns and winds, fresh air and de rest of it⁠—Aw hell, dat’s all a dope dream! Hittin’ de pipe of de past, dat’s what he’s doin’. He’s old and don’t belong no more. But me, I’m young! I’m in de pink! I move wit it! It, get me! I mean de ting dat’s de guts of all dis. It ploughs trou all de tripe he’s been sayin’. It blows dat up! It knocks dat dead! It slams dat off en de face of de oith! It, get me! De engines and de coal and de smoke and all de rest of it! He can’t breathe and swallow coal dust, but I kin, see? Dat’s fresh air for me! Dat’s food for me! I’m new, get me? Hell in de stokehole? Sure! It takes a man to work in hell. Hell, sure, dat’s my fav’rite climate. I eat it up! I git fat on it! It’s me makes it hot! It’s me makes it roar! It’s me makes it move! Sure, on’y for me everyting stops. It all goes dead, get me? De noise and smoke and all de engines movin’ de woild, dey stop. Dere ain’t nothin’ no more! Dat’s what I’m sayin’. Everyting else dat makes de woild move, somep’n makes it move. It can’t move witout somep’n else, see? Den yuh get down to me. I’m at de bottom, get me! Dere ain’t nothin’ foither. I’m de end! I’m de start! I start somep’n and de woild moves! It⁠—dat’s me!⁠—de new dat’s moiderin’ de old! I’m de ting in coal dat makes it boin; I’m steam and oil for de engines; I’m de ting in noise dat makes yuh hear it; I’m smoke and express trains and steamers and factory whistles; I’m de ting in gold dat makes it money! And I’m what makes iron into steel! Steel, dat stands for de whole ting! And I’m steel⁠—steel⁠—steel! I’m de muscles in steel, de punch behind it! <i epub:type="z3998:stage-direction">As he says this he pounds with his fist against the steel bunks. All the men, roused to a pitch of frenzied self-glorification by his speech, do likewise. There is a deafening metallic roar, through which <b epub:type="z3998:persona">Yank</b>’s voice can be heard bellowing.</i> Slaves, hell! We run de whole woiks. All de rich guys dat tink dey’re somep’n, dey ain’t nothin’! Dey don’t belong. But us guys, we’re in de move, we’re at de bottom, de whole ting is us! <i epub:type="z3998:stage-direction"><b epub:type="z3998:persona">Paddy</b> from the start of <b epub:type="z3998:persona">Yank</b>’s speech has been taking one gulp after another from his bottle, at first frightenedly, as if he were afraid to listen, then desperately, as if to drown his senses, but finally has achieved complete indifferent, even amused, drunkenness. <b epub:type="z3998:persona">Yank</b> sees his lips moving. He quells the uproar with a shout.</i> Hey, youse guys, take it easy! Wait a moment! De nutty Harp is sayin’ someth’n.</td>
+						<td>Aw, yuh crazy Mick! <i epub:type="z3998:stage-direction">He springs to his feet and advances on <b epub:type="z3998:persona">Paddy</b> threateningly⁠—then stops, fighting some queer struggle within himself⁠—lets his hands fall to his sides⁠—contemptuously.</i> Aw, take it easy. Yuh’re aw right, at dat. Yuh’re bugs, dat’s all⁠—nutty as a cuckoo. All dat tripe yuh been pullin’⁠—Aw, dat’s all right. On’y it’s dead, get me? Yuh don’t belong no more, see. Yuh don’t get de stuff. Yuh’re too old. <i epub:type="z3998:stage-direction">Disgustedly.</i> But aw say, come up for air onct in a while, can’t yuh? See what’s happened since yuh croaked. <i epub:type="z3998:stage-direction">He suddenly bursts forth vehemently, growing more and more excited.</i> Say! Sure! Sure I meant it! What de hell⁠—Say, lemme talk! Hey! Hey, you old Harp! Hey, youse guys! Say, listen to me⁠—wait a moment⁠—I gotter talk, see. I belong and he don’t. He’s dead but I’m livin’. Listen to me! Sure I’m part of de engines! Why de hell not! Dey move, don’t dey? Dey’re speed, ain’t dey? Dey smash trou, don’t dey? Twenty-five knots a hour! Dat’s goin’ some! Dat’s new stuff! Dat belongs! But him, he’s too old. He gets dizzy. Say, listen. All dat crazy tripe about nights and days; all dat crazy tripe about stars and moons; all dat crazy tripe about suns and winds, fresh air and de rest of it⁠—Aw hell, dat’s all a dope dream! Hittin’ de pipe of de past, dat’s what he’s doin’. He’s old and don’t belong no more. But me, I’m young! I’m in de pink! I move wit it! It, get me! I mean de ting dat’s de guts of all dis. It ploughs trou all de tripe he’s been sayin’. It blows dat up! It knocks dat dead! It slams dat off en de face of de oith! It, get me! De engines and de coal and de smoke and all de rest of it! He can’t breathe and swallow coal dust, but I kin, see? Dat’s fresh air for me! Dat’s food for me! I’m new, get me? Hell in de stokehole? Sure! It takes a man to work in hell. Hell, sure, dat’s my fav’rite climate. I eat it up! I git fat on it! It’s me makes it hot! It’s me makes it roar! It’s me makes it move! Sure, on’y for me everyting stops. It all goes dead, get me? De noise and smoke and all de engines movin’ de woild, dey stop. Dere ain’t nothin’ no more! Dat’s what I’m sayin’. Everyting else dat makes de woild move, somep’n makes it move. It can’t move witout somep’n else, see? Den yuh get down to me. I’m at de bottom, get me! Dere ain’t nothin’ foither. I’m de end! I’m de start! I start somep’n and de woild moves! It⁠—dat’s me!⁠—de new dat’s moiderin’ de old! I’m de ting in coal dat makes it boin; I’m steam and oil for de engines; I’m de ting in noise dat makes yuh hear it; I’m smoke and express trains and steamers and factory whistles; I’m de ting in gold dat makes it money! And I’m what makes iron into steel! Steel, dat stands for de whole ting! And I’m steel⁠—steel⁠—steel! I’m de muscles in steel, de punch behind it! <i epub:type="z3998:stage-direction">As he says this he pounds with his fist against the steel bunks. All the men, roused to a pitch of frenzied self-glorification by his speech, do likewise. There is a deafening metallic roar, through which <b epub:type="z3998:persona">Yank’s</b> voice can be heard bellowing.</i> Slaves, hell! We run de whole woiks. All de rich guys dat tink dey’re somep’n, dey ain’t nothin’! Dey don’t belong. But us guys, we’re in de move, we’re at de bottom, de whole ting is us! <i epub:type="z3998:stage-direction"><b epub:type="z3998:persona">Paddy</b> from the start of <b epub:type="z3998:persona">Yank’s</b> speech has been taking one gulp after another from his bottle, at first frightenedly, as if he were afraid to listen, then desperately, as if to drown his senses, but finally has achieved complete indifferent, even amused, drunkenness. <b epub:type="z3998:persona">Yank</b> sees his lips moving. He quells the uproar with a shout.</i> Hey, youse guys, take it easy! Wait a moment! De nutty Harp is sayin’ someth’n.</td>
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 						<td epub:type="z3998:persona">Paddy</td>

src/epub/text/scene-4.xhtml

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-							<i epub:type="z3998:stage-direction">The firemen’s forecastle. <b epub:type="z3998:persona">Yank</b>’s watch has just come off duty and had dinner. Their faces and bodies shine from a soap and water scrubbing but around their eyes, where a hasty dousing does not touch, the coal dust sticks like black makeup, giving them a queer, sinister expression. <b epub:type="z3998:persona">Yank</b> has not washed either face or body. He stands out in contrast to them, a blackened, brooding figure. He is seated forward on a bench in the exact attitude of Rodin’s <i epub:type="se:name.visual-art.sculpture">The Thinker</i>. The others, most of them smoking pipes, are staring at Yank half-apprehensively, as if fearing an outburst; half-amusedly, as if they saw a joke somewhere that tickled them.</i>
+							<i epub:type="z3998:stage-direction">The firemen’s forecastle. <b epub:type="z3998:persona">Yank’s</b> watch has just come off duty and had dinner. Their faces and bodies shine from a soap and water scrubbing but around their eyes, where a hasty dousing does not touch, the coal dust sticks like black makeup, giving them a queer, sinister expression. <b epub:type="z3998:persona">Yank</b> has not washed either face or body. He stands out in contrast to them, a blackened, brooding figure. He is seated forward on a bench in the exact attitude of Rodin’s <i epub:type="se:name.visual-art.sculpture">The Thinker</i>. The others, most of them smoking pipes, are staring at Yank half-apprehensively, as if fearing an outburst; half-amusedly, as if they saw a joke somewhere that tickled them.</i>
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 						<td epub:type="z3998:persona">Long</td>
-						<td><i epub:type="z3998:stage-direction">Excitedly.</i> Church is out. ’Ere they come, the bleedin’ swine. <i epub:type="z3998:stage-direction">After a glance at <b epub:type="z3998:persona">Yank</b>’s lowering face⁠—uneasily.</i> Easy goes, Comrade. Keep yer bloomin’ temper. Remember force defeats itself. It ain’t our weapon. We must impress our demands through peaceful means⁠—the votes of the on-marching proletarians of the bloody world!</td>
+						<td><i epub:type="z3998:stage-direction">Excitedly.</i> Church is out. ’Ere they come, the bleedin’ swine. <i epub:type="z3998:stage-direction">After a glance at <b epub:type="z3998:persona">Yank’s</b> lowering face⁠—uneasily.</i> Easy goes, Comrade. Keep yer bloomin’ temper. Remember force defeats itself. It ain’t our weapon. We must impress our demands through peaceful means⁠—the votes of the on-marching proletarians of the bloody world!</td>
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 						<td epub:type="z3998:persona">Yank</td>
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 						<td epub:type="z3998:persona">Long</td>
-						<td><i epub:type="z3998:stage-direction">Rushing up and grabbing <b epub:type="z3998:persona">Yank</b>’s arm.</i> ’Ere! Come away! This wasn’t what I meant. Yer’ll ’ave the bloody coppers down on us.</td>
+						<td><i epub:type="z3998:stage-direction">Rushing up and grabbing <b epub:type="z3998:persona">Yank’s</b> arm.</i> ’Ere! Come away! This wasn’t what I meant. Yer’ll ’ave the bloody coppers down on us.</td>
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 						<td epub:type="z3998:persona">Yank</td>

src/epub/text/scene-6.xhtml

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 						<td epub:type="z3998:persona">Voice</td>
-						<td>A gang of blokes⁠—a tough gang. I been readin’ about ’em today in the paper. The guard give me the <i epub:type="se:name.publication.newspaper">Sunday Times</i>. There’s a long spiel about ’em. It’s from a speech made in the Senate by a guy named Senator Queen. <i epub:type="z3998:stage-direction">He is in the cell next to <b epub:type="z3998:persona">Yank</b>’s. There is a rustling of paper.</i> Wait’ll I see if I got light enough and I’ll read you. Listen. <i epub:type="z3998:stage-direction">He reads:</i> “There is a menace existing in this country today which threatens the vitals of our fair Republic⁠—as foul a menace against the very lifeblood of the American Eagle as was the foul conspiracy of Cataline against the eagles of ancient Rome!”</td>
+						<td>A gang of blokes⁠—a tough gang. I been readin’ about ’em today in the paper. The guard give me the <i epub:type="se:name.publication.newspaper">Sunday Times</i>. There’s a long spiel about ’em. It’s from a speech made in the Senate by a guy named Senator Queen. <i epub:type="z3998:stage-direction">He is in the cell next to <b epub:type="z3998:persona">Yank’s</b>. There is a rustling of paper.</i> Wait’ll I see if I got light enough and I’ll read you. Listen. <i epub:type="z3998:stage-direction">He reads:</i> “There is a menace existing in this country today which threatens the vitals of our fair Republic⁠—as foul a menace against the very lifeblood of the American Eagle as was the foul conspiracy of Cataline against the eagles of ancient Rome!”</td>
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 						<td epub:type="z3998:persona">Voice</td>
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 						<td epub:type="z3998:persona">Guard</td>
-						<td><i epub:type="z3998:stage-direction">Scared now⁠—yelling off left.</i> Toin de hoose on, Ben!⁠—full pressure! And call de others⁠—and a strait jacket! <i epub:type="z3998:stage-direction">The curtain is falling. As it hides <b epub:type="z3998:persona">Yank</b> from view, there is a splattering smash as the stream of water hits the steel of <b epub:type="z3998:persona">Yank</b>’s cell.</i></td>
+						<td><i epub:type="z3998:stage-direction">Scared now⁠—yelling off left.</i> Toin de hoose on, Ben!⁠—full pressure! And call de others⁠—and a strait jacket! <i epub:type="z3998:stage-direction">The curtain is falling. As it hides <b epub:type="z3998:persona">Yank</b> from view, there is a splattering smash as the stream of water hits the steel of <b epub:type="z3998:persona">Yank’s</b> cell.</i></td>
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src/epub/text/scene-7.xhtml

@@ -222,7 +222,7 @@
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 						<td epub:type="z3998:persona">Secretary</td>
-						<td>No. He isn’t worth the trouble we’d get into. He’s too stupid. <i epub:type="z3998:stage-direction">He comes closer and laughs mockingly in <b epub:type="z3998:persona">Yank</b>’s face.</i> Ho-ho! By God, this is the biggest joke they’ve put up on us yet. Hey, you Joke! Who sent you⁠—Burns or Pinkerton? No, by God, you’re such a bonehead I’ll bet you’re in the Secret Service! Well, you dirty spy, you rotten agent provocator, you can go back and tell whatever skunk is paying you blood-money for betraying your brothers that he’s wasting his coin. You couldn’t catch a cold. And tell him that all he’ll ever get on us, or ever has got, is just his own sneaking plots that he’s framed up to put us in jail. We are what our manifesto says we are, neither more or less⁠—and we’ll give him a copy of that any time he calls. And as for you⁠—<i epub:type="z3998:stage-direction">He glares scornfully at <b epub:type="z3998:persona">Yank</b>, who is sunk in an oblivious stupor.</i> Oh, hell, what’s the use of talking? You’re a brainless ape.</td>
+						<td>No. He isn’t worth the trouble we’d get into. He’s too stupid. <i epub:type="z3998:stage-direction">He comes closer and laughs mockingly in <b epub:type="z3998:persona">Yank’s</b> face.</i> Ho-ho! By God, this is the biggest joke they’ve put up on us yet. Hey, you Joke! Who sent you⁠—Burns or Pinkerton? No, by God, you’re such a bonehead I’ll bet you’re in the Secret Service! Well, you dirty spy, you rotten agent provocator, you can go back and tell whatever skunk is paying you blood-money for betraying your brothers that he’s wasting his coin. You couldn’t catch a cold. And tell him that all he’ll ever get on us, or ever has got, is just his own sneaking plots that he’s framed up to put us in jail. We are what our manifesto says we are, neither more or less⁠—and we’ll give him a copy of that any time he calls. And as for you⁠—<i epub:type="z3998:stage-direction">He glares scornfully at <b epub:type="z3998:persona">Yank</b>, who is sunk in an oblivious stupor.</i> Oh, hell, what’s the use of talking? You’re a brainless ape.</td>
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 						<td epub:type="z3998:persona">Yank</td>