Fix typo

src/epub/text/chapter-1-22.xhtml

@@ -61,7 +61,7 @@
 			<p>“What can it be? Good Heavens, Cousin Monica, do you hear it?”</p>
 			<p>“Yes, dear; and it is two o’clock.”</p>
 			<p>Everyone at Knowl was in bed at eleven. We knew very well that <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mrs.</abbr> Rusk was rather nervous, and would not, for worlds, go alone, and at such an hour, to the room. We called Mary Quince. We all three listened, but we heard no other sound. I set these things down here because they made so terrible an impression upon me at the time.</p>
-			<p>It ended by our peeping out, all three in a body, upon the gallery. Through each window in the perspective came its blue sheet of moonshine; but the door on which our attention was fixed was in the shade, and we thought we could discern the glare of a candle through the keyhole. While in whispers we were debating this point together, the door opened, the dusky light of a candle emerged, the shadow of a figure crossed it within, and in another moment the mysterious Doctor Bryerly⁠—angular, ungainly, in the black cloth coat that fitted little better than a coffin⁠—issued from the chamber, candle in hand; murmuring, I suppose, a prayer⁠—it sounded like a farewell⁠—as hee looked back, pallid and grim, into the room; and then stepped cautiously upon the gallery floor, shutting and locking the door upon the dead; and then having listened for a second, the saturnine figure, casting a gigantic and distorted shadow upon the ceiling and sidewall from the lowered candle, strode lightly down the long dark passage, away from us.</p>
+			<p>It ended by our peeping out, all three in a body, upon the gallery. Through each window in the perspective came its blue sheet of moonshine; but the door on which our attention was fixed was in the shade, and we thought we could discern the glare of a candle through the keyhole. While in whispers we were debating this point together, the door opened, the dusky light of a candle emerged, the shadow of a figure crossed it within, and in another moment the mysterious Doctor Bryerly⁠—angular, ungainly, in the black cloth coat that fitted little better than a coffin⁠—issued from the chamber, candle in hand; murmuring, I suppose, a prayer⁠—it sounded like a farewell⁠—as he looked back, pallid and grim, into the room; and then stepped cautiously upon the gallery floor, shutting and locking the door upon the dead; and then having listened for a second, the saturnine figure, casting a gigantic and distorted shadow upon the ceiling and sidewall from the lowered candle, strode lightly down the long dark passage, away from us.</p>
 			<p>I can only speak for myself, and I can honestly say that I felt as much frightened as if I had just seen a sorcerer stealing from his unhallowed business. I think Cousin Monica was also affected in the same way, for she turned the key on the inside of the door when we entered. I do not think one of us believed at the moment that what we had seen was a Doctor Bryerly of flesh and blood, and yet the first thing we spoke of in the morning was Doctor Bryerly’s arrival. The mind is a different organ by night and by day.</p>
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