Semanticate

src/epub/text/chapter-1-1.xhtml

@@ -27,13 +27,13 @@
 			<p>“I want you to take a red-hot bath as hot as you can bear it, and just relax your nerves. You can read in the tub if you wish.”</p>
 			<p>She fed him sections of the <i xml:lang="fr">Fêtes Galantes</i> before he was ten; at eleven he could talk glibly, if rather reminiscently, of Brahms and Mozart and Beethoven. One afternoon, when left alone in the hotel at Hot Springs, he sampled his mother’s apricot cordial, and as the taste pleased him, he became quite tipsy. This was fun for a while, but he essayed a cigarette in his exaltation, and succumbed to a vulgar, plebeian reaction. Though this incident horrified Beatrice, it also secretly amused her and became part of what in a later generation would have been termed her “line.”</p>
 			<p>“This son of mine,” he heard her tell a room full of awestruck, admiring women one day, “is entirely sophisticated and quite charming⁠—but delicate⁠—we’re all delicate; <em>here</em>, you know.” Her hand was radiantly outlined against her beautiful bosom; then sinking her voice to a whisper, she told them of the apricot cordial. They rejoiced, for she was a brave raconteuse, but many were the keys turned in sideboard locks that night against the possible defection of little Bobby or Barbara.⁠ ⁠…</p>
-			<p>These domestic pilgrimages were invariably in state; two maids, the private car, or <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Blaine when available, and very often a physician. When Amory had the whooping-cough four disgusted specialists glared at each other hunched around his bed; when he took scarlet fever the number of attendants, including physicians and nurses, totalled fourteen. However, blood being thicker than broth, he was pulled through.</p>
+			<p>These domestic pilgrimages were invariably in state; two maids, the private car, or <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Blaine when available, and very often a physician. When Amory had the whooping-cough four disgusted specialists glared at each other hunched around his bed; when he took scarlet fever the number of attendants, including physicians and nurses, totalled fourteen. However, blood being thicker than broth, he was pulled through.</p>
 			<p>The Blaines were attached to no city. They were the Blaines of Lake Geneva; they had quite enough relatives to serve in place of friends, and an enviable standing from Pasadena to Cape Cod. But Beatrice grew more and more prone to like only new acquaintances, as there were certain stories, such as the history of her constitution and its many amendments, memories of her years abroad, that it was necessary for her to repeat at regular intervals. Like Freudian dreams, they must be thrown off, else they would sweep in and lay siege to her nerves. But Beatrice was critical about American women, especially the floating population of ex-Westerners.</p>
 			<p>“They have accents, my dear,” she told Amory, “not Southern accents or Boston accents, not an accent attached to any locality, just an accent”⁠—she became dreamy. “They pick up old, moth-eaten London accents that are down on their luck and have to be used by someone. They talk as an English butler might after several years in a Chicago grand-opera company.” She became almost incoherent⁠—“Suppose⁠—time in every Western woman’s life⁠—she feels her husband is prosperous enough for her to have⁠—accent⁠—they try to impress <em>me</em>, my dear⁠—”</p>
 			<p>Though she thought of her body as a mass of frailties, she considered her soul quite as ill, and therefore important in her life. She had once been a Catholic, but discovering that priests were infinitely more attentive when she was in process of losing or regaining faith in Mother Church, she maintained an enchantingly wavering attitude. Often she deplored the bourgeois quality of the American Catholic clergy, and was quite sure that had she lived in the shadow of the great Continental cathedrals her soul would still be a thin flame on the mighty altar of Rome. Still, next to doctors, priests were her favorite sport.</p>
 			<p>“Ah, Bishop Wiston,” she would declare, “I do not want to talk of myself. I can imagine the stream of hysterical women fluttering at your doors, beseeching you to be simpatico”⁠—then after an interlude filled by the clergyman⁠—“but my mood⁠—is⁠—oddly dissimilar.”</p>
 			<p>Only to bishops and above did she divulge her clerical romance. When she had first returned to her country there had been a pagan, Swinburnian young man in Asheville, for whose passionate kisses and unsentimental conversations she had taken a decided penchant⁠—they had discussed the matter pro and con with an intellectual romancing quite devoid of sappiness. Eventually she had decided to marry for background, and the young pagan from Asheville had gone through a spiritual crisis, joined the Catholic Church, and was now⁠—Monsignor Darcy.</p>
-			<p>“Indeed, <abbr>Mrs.</abbr> Blaine, he is still delightful company⁠—quite the cardinal’s right-hand man.”</p>
+			<p>“Indeed, <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mrs.</abbr> Blaine, he is still delightful company⁠—quite the cardinal’s right-hand man.”</p>
 			<p>“Amory will go to him one day, I know,” breathed the beautiful lady, “and Monsignor Darcy will understand him as he understood me.”</p>
 			<p>Amory became thirteen, rather tall and slender, and more than ever on to his Celtic mother. He had tutored occasionally⁠—the idea being that he was to “keep up,” at each place “taking up the work where he left off,” yet as no tutor ever found the place he left off, his mind was still in very good shape. What a few more years of this life would have made of him is problematical. However, four hours out from land, Italy bound, with Beatrice, his appendix burst, probably from too many meals in bed, and after a series of frantic telegrams to Europe and America, to the amazement of the passengers the great ship slowly wheeled around and returned to New York to deposit Amory at the pier. You will admit that if it was not life it was magnificent.</p>
 			<p>After the operation Beatrice had a nervous breakdown that bore a suspicious resemblance to delirium tremens, and Amory was left in Minneapolis, destined to spend the ensuing two years with his aunt and uncle. There the crude, vulgar air of Western civilization first catches him⁠—in his underwear, so to speak.</p>
@@ -52,7 +52,7 @@
 						</p>
 					</footer>
 				</blockquote>
-				<p>He had been two months in Minneapolis, and his chief struggle had been the concealing from “the other guys at school” how particularly superior he felt himself to be, yet this conviction was built upon shifting sands. He had shown off one day in French class (he was in senior French class) to the utter confusion of <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Reardon, whose accent Amory damned contemptuously, and to the delight of the class. <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Reardon, who had spent several weeks in Paris ten years before, took his revenge on the verbs, whenever he had his book open. But another time Amory showed off in history class, with quite disastrous results, for the boys there were his own age, and they shrilled innuendoes at each other all the following week:</p>
+				<p>He had been two months in Minneapolis, and his chief struggle had been the concealing from “the other guys at school” how particularly superior he felt himself to be, yet this conviction was built upon shifting sands. He had shown off one day in French class (he was in senior French class) to the utter confusion of <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Reardon, whose accent Amory damned contemptuously, and to the delight of the class. <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Reardon, who had spent several weeks in Paris ten years before, took his revenge on the verbs, whenever he had his book open. But another time Amory showed off in history class, with quite disastrous results, for the boys there were his own age, and they shrilled innuendoes at each other all the following week:</p>
 				<p>“Aw⁠—I b’lieve, doncherknow, the Umuricun revolution was <em>lawgely</em> an affair of the middul <em>clawses</em>,” or</p>
 				<p>“Washington came of very good blood⁠—aw, quite good⁠—I b’lieve.”</p>
 				<p>Amory ingeniously tried to retrieve himself by blundering on purpose. Two years before he had commenced a history of the United States which, though it only got as far as the Colonial Wars, had been pronounced by his mother completely enchanting.</p>
@@ -66,8 +66,8 @@
 						<p epub:type="z3998:signature">Amory Blaine.</p>
 					</footer>
 				</blockquote>
-				<p>On Thursday, therefore, he walked pensively along the slippery, shovel-scraped sidewalks, and came in sight of Myra’s house, on the half-hour after five, a lateness which he fancied his mother would have favored. He waited on the doorstep with his eyes nonchalantly half-closed, and planned his entrance with precision. He would cross the floor, not too hastily, to <abbr>Mrs.</abbr> <abbr>St.</abbr> Claire, and say with exactly the correct modulation:</p>
-				<p>“My <em>dear</em> <abbr>Mrs.</abbr> <abbr>St.</abbr> Claire, I’m <em>frightfully</em> sorry to be late, but my maid”⁠—he paused there and realized he would be quoting⁠—“but my uncle and I had to see a fella⁠—Yes, I’ve met your enchanting daughter at dancing-school.”</p>
+				<p>On Thursday, therefore, he walked pensively along the slippery, shovel-scraped sidewalks, and came in sight of Myra’s house, on the half-hour after five, a lateness which he fancied his mother would have favored. He waited on the doorstep with his eyes nonchalantly half-closed, and planned his entrance with precision. He would cross the floor, not too hastily, to <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mrs.</abbr> <abbr>St.</abbr> Claire, and say with exactly the correct modulation:</p>
+				<p>“My <em>dear</em> <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mrs.</abbr> <abbr>St.</abbr> Claire, I’m <em>frightfully</em> sorry to be late, but my maid”⁠—he paused there and realized he would be quoting⁠—“but my uncle and I had to see a fella⁠—Yes, I’ve met your enchanting daughter at dancing-school.”</p>
 				<p>Then he would shake hands, using that slight, half-foreign bow, with all the starchy little females, and nod to the fellas who would be standing ’round, paralyzed into rigid groups for mutual protection.</p>
 				<p>A butler (one of the three in Minneapolis) swung open the door. Amory stepped inside and divested himself of cap and coat. He was mildly surprised not to hear the shrill squawk of conversation from the next room, and he decided it must be quite formal. He approved of that⁠—as he approved of the butler.</p>
 				<p>“Miss Myra,” he said.</p>
@@ -225,7 +225,7 @@
 				<p>Amory grunted impolitely.</p>
 				<p>“You must go to Brooks’ and get some really nice suits. Oh, we’ll have a talk tonight or perhaps tomorrow night. I want to tell you about your heart⁠—you’ve probably been neglecting your heart⁠—and you don’t <em>know</em>.”</p>
 				<p>Amory thought how superficial was the recent overlay of his own generation. Aside from a minute shyness, he felt that the old cynical kinship with his mother had not been one bit broken. Yet for the first few days he wandered about the gardens and along the shore in a state of superloneliness, finding a lethargic content in smoking “Bull” at the garage with one of the chauffeurs.</p>
-				<p>The sixty acres of the estate were dotted with old and new summer houses and many fountains and white benches that came suddenly into sight from foliage-hung hiding-places; there was a great and constantly increasing family of white cats that prowled the many flowerbeds and were silhouetted suddenly at night against the darkening trees. It was on one of the shadowy paths that Beatrice at last captured Amory, after <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Blaine had, as usual, retired for the evening to his private library. After reproving him for avoiding her, she took him for a long tête-à-tête in the moonlight. He could not reconcile himself to her beauty, that was mother to his own, the exquisite neck and shoulders, the grace of a fortunate woman of thirty.</p>
+				<p>The sixty acres of the estate were dotted with old and new summer houses and many fountains and white benches that came suddenly into sight from foliage-hung hiding-places; there was a great and constantly increasing family of white cats that prowled the many flowerbeds and were silhouetted suddenly at night against the darkening trees. It was on one of the shadowy paths that Beatrice at last captured Amory, after <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Blaine had, as usual, retired for the evening to his private library. After reproving him for avoiding her, she took him for a long tête-à-tête in the moonlight. He could not reconcile himself to her beauty, that was mother to his own, the exquisite neck and shoulders, the grace of a fortunate woman of thirty.</p>
 				<p>“Amory, dear,” she crooned softly, “I had such a strange, weird time after I left you.”</p>
 				<p>“Did you, Beatrice?”</p>
 				<p>“When I had my last breakdown”⁠—she spoke of it as a sturdy, gallant feat.</p>
@@ -316,7 +316,7 @@
 				<header>
 					<p>Incident of the Well-Meaning Professor</p>
 				</header>
-				<p>On the last night of his first term, <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Margotson, the senior master, sent word to study hall that Amory was to come to his room at nine. Amory suspected that advice was forthcoming, but he determined to be courteous, because this <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Margotson had been kindly disposed toward him.</p>
+				<p>On the last night of his first term, <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Margotson, the senior master, sent word to study hall that Amory was to come to his room at nine. Amory suspected that advice was forthcoming, but he determined to be courteous, because this <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Margotson had been kindly disposed toward him.</p>
 				<p>His summoner received him gravely, and motioned him to a chair. He hemmed several times and looked consciously kind, as a man will when he knows he’s on delicate ground.</p>
 				<p>“Amory,” he began. “I’ve sent for you on a personal matter.”</p>
 				<p>“Yes, sir.”</p>