Semanticate

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 							<td epub:type="z3998:persona">The Voice</td>
-							<td><i epub:type="z3998:stage-direction">Very much depressed.</i> Yes, it is truly a melancholy spectacle. Women with receding chins and shapeless noses go about in broad daylight saying “Do this!” and “Do that!” and all the men, even those of great wealth, obey implicitly their women to whom they refer sonorously either as “<abbr>Mrs.</abbr> So-and-so” or as “the wife.”</td>
+							<td><i epub:type="z3998:stage-direction">Very much depressed.</i> Yes, it is truly a melancholy spectacle. Women with receding chins and shapeless noses go about in broad daylight saying “Do this!” and “Do that!” and all the men, even those of great wealth, obey implicitly their women to whom they refer sonorously either as “<abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mrs.</abbr> So-and-so” or as “the wife.”</td>
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 							<td epub:type="z3998:persona">Beauty</td>

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 				<p>Baptiste, the little Sicilian of the train, fell foul of him the second week of drill. The captain had several times ordered the men to be clean-shaven when they fell in each morning. One day there was disclosed an alarming breech of this rule, surely a case of Teutonic connivance⁠—during the night four men had grown hair upon their faces. The fact that three of the four understood a minimum of English made a practical object-lesson only the more necessary, so Captain Dunning resolutely sent a volunteer barber back to the company street for a razor. Whereupon for the safety of democracy a half-ounce of hair was scraped dry from the cheeks of three Italians and one Pole.</p>
 				<p>Outside the world of the company there appeared, from time to time, the colonel, a heavy man with snarling teeth, who circumnavigated the battalion drill-field upon a handsome black horse. He was a West Pointer, and, mimetically, a gentleman. He had a dowdy wife and a dowdy mind, and spent much of his time in town taking advantage of the army’s lately exalted social position. Last of all was the general, who traversed the roads of the camp preceded by his flag⁠—a figure so austere, so removed, so magnificent, as to be scarcely comprehensible.</p>
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-				<p>December. Cool winds at night now, and damp, chilly mornings on the drill-grounds. As the heat faded, Anthony found himself increasingly glad to be alive. Renewed strangely through his body, he worried little and existed in the present with a sort of animal content. It was not that Gloria or the life that Gloria represented was less often in his thoughts⁠—it was simply that she became, day by day, less real, less vivid. For a week they had corresponded passionately, almost hysterically⁠—then by an unwritten agreement they had ceased to write more than twice, and then once, a week. She was bored, she said; if his brigade was to be there a long time she was coming down to join him. <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Haight was going to be able to submit a stronger brief than he had expected, but doubted that the appealed case would come up until late spring. Muriel was in the city doing Red Cross work, and they went out together rather often. What would Anthony think if <em>she</em> went into the Red Cross? Trouble was she had heard that she might have to bathe negroes in alcohol, and after that she hadn’t felt so patriotic. The city was full of soldiers and she’d seen a lot of boys she hadn’t laid eyes on for years.⁠ ⁠…</p>
+				<p>December. Cool winds at night now, and damp, chilly mornings on the drill-grounds. As the heat faded, Anthony found himself increasingly glad to be alive. Renewed strangely through his body, he worried little and existed in the present with a sort of animal content. It was not that Gloria or the life that Gloria represented was less often in his thoughts⁠—it was simply that she became, day by day, less real, less vivid. For a week they had corresponded passionately, almost hysterically⁠—then by an unwritten agreement they had ceased to write more than twice, and then once, a week. She was bored, she said; if his brigade was to be there a long time she was coming down to join him. <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Haight was going to be able to submit a stronger brief than he had expected, but doubted that the appealed case would come up until late spring. Muriel was in the city doing Red Cross work, and they went out together rather often. What would Anthony think if <em>she</em> went into the Red Cross? Trouble was she had heard that she might have to bathe negroes in alcohol, and after that she hadn’t felt so patriotic. The city was full of soldiers and she’d seen a lot of boys she hadn’t laid eyes on for years.⁠ ⁠…</p>
 				<p>Anthony did not want her to come South. He told himself that this was for many reasons⁠—he needed a rest from her and she from him. She would be bored beyond measure in town, and she would be able to see Anthony for only a few hours each day. But in his heart he feared that it was because he was attracted to Dorothy. As a matter of fact he lived in terror that Gloria should learn by some chance or intention of the relation he had formed. By the end of a fortnight the entanglement began to give him moments of misery at his own faithlessness. Nevertheless, as each day ended he was unable to withstand the lure that would draw him irresistibly out of his tent and over to the telephone at the <abbr class="eoc" epub:type="z3998:initialism">Y.M.C.A.</abbr></p>
 				<p>“Dot.”</p>
 				<p>“Yes?”</p>
@@ -169,7 +169,7 @@
 				<p>She knew vaguely of Gloria. It gave her pain to think of it, so she imagined her to be haughty and proud and cold. She had decided that Gloria must be older than Anthony, and that there was no love between husband and wife. Sometimes she let herself dream that after the war Anthony would get a divorce and they would be married⁠—but she never mentioned this to Anthony, she scarcely knew why. She shared his company’s idea that he was a sort of bank clerk⁠—she thought that he was respectable and poor. She would say:</p>
 				<p>“If I had some money, darlin’, I’d give ev’y bit of it to you.⁠ ⁠… I’d like to have about fifty thousand dollars.”</p>
 				<p>“I suppose that’d be plenty,” agreed Anthony.</p>
-				<p>—In her letter that day Gloria had written: “I suppose if we <em>could</em> settle for a million it would be better to tell <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Haight to go ahead and settle. But it’d seem a pity.⁠ ⁠…”</p>
+				<p>—In her letter that day Gloria had written: “I suppose if we <em>could</em> settle for a million it would be better to tell <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Haight to go ahead and settle. But it’d seem a pity.⁠ ⁠…”</p>
 				<p>… “We could have an automobile,” exclaimed Dot, in a final burst of triumph.</p>
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@@ -295,7 +295,7 @@
 				<p>He had sent her a night-letter saying that he had passed his examinations for an officers’ training-camp, and expected to leave for Georgia shortly. She had not answered. He had wired again⁠—when he received no word he imagined that she might be out of town. But it occurred and recurred to him that she was not out of town, and a series of distraught imaginings began to plague him. Supposing Gloria, bored and restless, had found someone, even as he had. The thought terrified him with its possibility⁠—it was chiefly because he had been so sure of her personal integrity that he had considered her so sparingly during the year. And now, as a doubt was born, the old angers, the rages of possession, swarmed back a thousandfold. What more natural than that she should be in love again?</p>
 				<p>He remembered the Gloria who promised that should she ever want anything, she would take it, insisting that since she would act entirely for her own satisfaction she could go through such an affair unsmirched⁠—it was only the effect on a person’s mind that counted, anyhow, she said, and her reaction would be the masculine one, of satiation and faint dislike.</p>
 				<p>But that had been when they were first married. Later, with the discovery that she could be jealous of Anthony, she had, outwardly at least, changed her mind. There were no other men in the world for her. This he had known only too surely. Perceiving that a certain fastidiousness would restrain her, he had grown lax in preserving the completeness of her love⁠—which, after all, was the keystone of the entire structure.</p>
-				<p>Meanwhile all through the summer he had been maintaining Dot in a boardinghouse downtown. To do this it had been necessary to write to his broker for money. Dot had covered her journey south by leaving her house a day before the brigade broke camp, informing her mother in a note that she had gone to New York. On the evening following Anthony had called as though to see her. <abbr>Mrs.</abbr> Raycroft was in a state of collapse and there was a policeman in the parlor. A questionnaire had ensued, from which Anthony had extricated himself with some difficulty.</p>
+				<p>Meanwhile all through the summer he had been maintaining Dot in a boardinghouse downtown. To do this it had been necessary to write to his broker for money. Dot had covered her journey south by leaving her house a day before the brigade broke camp, informing her mother in a note that she had gone to New York. On the evening following Anthony had called as though to see her. <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mrs.</abbr> Raycroft was in a state of collapse and there was a policeman in the parlor. A questionnaire had ensued, from which Anthony had extricated himself with some difficulty.</p>
 				<p>In September, with his suspicions of Gloria, the company of Dot had become tedious, then almost intolerable. He was nervous and irritable from lack of sleep; his heart was sick and afraid. Three days ago he had gone to Captain Dunning and asked for a furlough, only to be met with benignant procrastination. The division was starting overseas, while Anthony was going to an officers’ training-camp; what furloughs could be given must go to the men who were leaving the country.</p>
 				<p>Upon this refusal Anthony had started to the telegraph office intending to wire Gloria to come South⁠—he reached the door and receded despairingly, seeing the utter impracticability of such a move. Then he had spent the evening quarrelling irritably with Dot, and returned to camp morose and angry with the world. There had been a disagreeable scene, in the midst of which he had precipitately departed. What was to be done with her did not seem to concern him vitally at present⁠—he was completely absorbed in the disheartening silence of his wife.⁠ ⁠…</p>
 				<p>The flap of the tent made a sudden triangle back upon itself, and a dark head appeared against the night.</p>
@@ -396,23 +396,23 @@
 				<p>After inexplicable stops and waits that reminded him of the night he had left New York, over a year before, they drew into the Pennsylvania Station, and he followed the familiar way to the taxi-stand, finding it grotesque and oddly stimulating to give his own address.</p>
 				<p>Broadway was a riot of light, thronged as he had never seen it with a carnival crowd which swept its glittering way through scraps of paper, piled ankle-deep on the sidewalks. Here and there, elevated upon benches and boxes, soldiers addressed the heedless mass, each face in which was clear cut and distinct under the white glare overhead. Anthony picked out half a dozen figures⁠—a drunken sailor, tipped backward and supported by two other gobs, was waving his hat and emitting a wild series of roars; a wounded soldier, crutch in hand, was borne along in an eddy on the shoulders of some shrieking civilians; a dark-haired girl sat cross-legged and meditative on top of a parked taxicab. Here surely the victory had come in time, the climax had been scheduled with the uttermost celestial foresight. The great rich nation had made triumphant war, suffered enough for poignancy but not enough for bitterness⁠—hence the carnival, the feasting, the triumph. Under these bright lights glittered the faces of peoples whose glory had long since passed away, whose very civilizations were dead-men whose ancestors had heard the news of victory in Babylon, in Nineveh, in Bagdad, in Tyre, a hundred generations before; men whose ancestors had seen a flower-decked, slave-adorned cortege drift with its wake of captives down the avenues of Imperial Rome.⁠ ⁠…</p>
 				<p>Past the Rialto, the glittering front of the Astor, the jewelled magnificence of Times Square⁠ ⁠… a gorgeous alley of incandescence ahead.⁠ ⁠… Then⁠—was it years later?⁠—he was paying the taxi-driver in front of a white building on Fifty-Seventh Street. He was in the hall⁠—ah, there was the negro boy from Martinique, lazy, indolent, unchanged.</p>
-				<p>“Is <abbr>Mrs.</abbr> Patch in?”</p>
+				<p>“Is <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mrs.</abbr> Patch in?”</p>
 				<p>“I have just came on, sah,” the man announced with his incongruous British accent.</p>
 				<p>“Take me up⁠—”</p>
 				<p>Then the slow drone of the elevator, the three steps to the door, which swung open at the impetus of his knock.</p>
 				<p>“Gloria!” His voice was trembling. No answer. A faint string of smoke was rising from a cigarette-tray⁠—a number of <i epub:type="se:name.publication.magazine">Vanity Fair</i> sat astraddle on the table.</p>
 				<p>“Gloria!”</p>
 				<p>He ran into the bedroom, the bath. She was not there. A negligee of robin’s-egg blue laid out upon the bed diffused a faint perfume, illusive and familiar. On a chair were a pair of stockings and a street dress; an open powder box yawned upon the bureau. She must just have gone out.</p>
 				<p>The telephone rang abruptly and he started⁠—answered it with all the sensations of an impostor.</p>
-				<p>“Hello. Is <abbr>Mrs.</abbr> Patch there?”</p>
+				<p>“Hello. Is <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mrs.</abbr> Patch there?”</p>
 				<p>“No, I’m looking for her myself. Who is this?”</p>
-				<p>“This is <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Crawford.”</p>
-				<p>“This is <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Patch speaking. I’ve just arrived unexpectedly, and I don’t know where to find her.”</p>
-				<p>“Oh.” <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Crawford sounded a bit taken aback. “Why, I imagine she’s at the Armistice Ball. I know she intended going, but I didn’t think she’d leave so early.”</p>
+				<p>“This is <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Crawford.”</p>
+				<p>“This is <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Patch speaking. I’ve just arrived unexpectedly, and I don’t know where to find her.”</p>
+				<p>“Oh.” <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Crawford sounded a bit taken aback. “Why, I imagine she’s at the Armistice Ball. I know she intended going, but I didn’t think she’d leave so early.”</p>
 				<p>“Where’s the Armistice Ball?”</p>
 				<p>“At the Astor.”</p>
 				<p>“Thanks.”</p>
-				<p>Anthony hung up sharply and rose. Who was <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Crawford? And who was it that was taking her to the ball? How long had this been going on? All these questions asked and answered themselves a dozen times, a dozen ways. His very proximity to her drove him half frantic.</p>
+				<p>Anthony hung up sharply and rose. Who was <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Crawford? And who was it that was taking her to the ball? How long had this been going on? All these questions asked and answered themselves a dozen times, a dozen ways. His very proximity to her drove him half frantic.</p>
 				<p>In a frenzy of suspicion he rushed here and there about the apartment, hunting for some sign of masculine occupation, opening the bathroom cupboard, searching feverishly through the bureau drawers. Then he found something that made him stop suddenly and sit down on one of the twin beds, the corners of his mouth drooping as though he were about to weep. There in a corner of her drawer, tied with a frail blue ribbon, were all the letters and telegrams he had written her during the year past. He was suffused with happy and sentimental shame.</p>
 				<p>“I’m not fit to touch her,” he cried aloud to the four walls. “I’m not fit to touch her little hand.”</p>
 				<p>Nevertheless, he went out to look for her.</p>