Correct transcription error

src/epub/text/chapter-11.xhtml

@@ -76,7 +76,7 @@
 			<p>I do not believe in spurning the love of a blackfellow if he behaves in a manly way; but Frank Hawden was such a drivelling mawkish style of sweetheart that I had no patience with him.</p>
 			<p>Aunt Helen and Everard had vacated the drawing-room, so I plumped down on the piano-stool and dashed into Kowalski’s galop, from that into “Gaite de Coeur” until I made the piano dance and tremble like a thing possessed. My annoyance faded, and I slowly played that saddest of waltzes, “Weber’s Last.” I became aware of a presence in the room, and, facing about, confronted Everard Grey.</p>
 			<p>“How long have you been here?” I demanded sharply.</p>
-			<p>“Since you began to play. Where on earth did you learn to play? Your execution is splendid. Do sing ‘Three Fishers’, please.”</p>
+			<p>“Since you began to play. Where on earth did you learn to play? Your execution is splendid. Do sing ‘Three Fishers,’ please.”</p>
 			<p>“Excuse me; I haven’t time now. Besides I am not competent to sing to you,” I said brusquely, and made my exit.</p>
 			<p>“<abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Hawden wants you, Sybylla,” called aunt Helen. “See what he wants and let him get away to his work, or your grannie will be vexed to see him loitering about all the morning.”</p>
 			<p>“Miss Sybylla,” he began, when we were left alone, “I want to apologize to you. I had no right to plague you, but it all comes of the way I love you. A fellow gets jealous at the least little thing, you know.”</p>