Use no-break hyphen for sounds

src/epub/content.opf

@@ -43,7 +43,7 @@
 		<dc:language>en-GB</dc:language>
 		<dc:source>https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/37046</dc:source>
 		<dc:source>https://archive.org/details/greenefernefarm01jeffgoog</dc:source>
-		<meta property="se:word-count">40490</meta>
+		<meta property="se:word-count">40504</meta>
 		<meta property="se:reading-ease.flesch">79.7</meta>
 		<meta property="se:url.vcs.github">https://github.com/standardebooks/richard-jefferies_greene-ferne-farm</meta>
 		<dc:creator id="author">Richard Jefferies</dc:creator>

src/epub/text/chapter-10.xhtml

@@ -11,7 +11,7 @@
 				<h2 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">X</h2>
 				<p epub:type="title">A Fray</p>
 			</hgroup>
-			<p><i>Puff-puff! puff-puff! hum-m-m!</i> as the flywheel whizzed round with a sudden ease in working.</p>
+			<p><i>Puff‑puff! puff‑puff! hum‑m‑m!</i> as the flywheel whizzed round with a sudden ease in working.</p>
 			<p>“I detest these ploughing engines,” said Squire Thorpe, looking over the gate and leaning his arms on it, as country people always do.</p>
 			<p>“But if the tenants find deep ploughing and manuring better, I suppose that’s the point,” said Valentine.</p>
 			<p>“For the tenant, yes,” said the Squire, as he shouldered his gun and turned away from the gate. “For <em>me</em>, it is another matter. It is a question with me if this deep ploughing will not exhaust the earth.”</p>
@@ -29,14 +29,14 @@
 			<p>The Squire returned homewards; Geoffrey and Valentine entered the turnips, making for the narrow belt of meadow by the wood. It was not a regular shooting expedition: they had simply strolled out for an hour, and were not accompanied by a keeper. The moment the Squire left, the conversation dropped. Valentine was bitter against his old friend: Geoffrey had not forgotten the contretemps at the nutting. It had been long before Margaret accepted his protestations of regret for his hasty words. Now no man, who is a man, likes the part of penitence. He considered that Valentine had forced him into that unpleasant position, and his wrath smouldered against him.</p>
 			<p>After the turnips, they got through a gap into the meadow land, which, being of poor quality, as is often the case near a wood, was dotted with dead thistles, rushes in the hollows, and bunches of tussocky grass. Out from one of these sprang a hare, as nearly as possible midway between them. They both fired⁠—so exactly simultaneously that it sounded as one report; and for the moment neither knew that the other had pulled the trigger. But when they saw what had happened, each turned away from the dead hare⁠—neither would touch it. Each, biased by previous irritation, accused the other in his mind of taking the shot from him. This little accident added to the sullen bitterness.</p>
 			<p>They now came to an immense double-mound hedge, into which the spaniels rushed. Valentine took the near side, Geoffrey the off, with the hedge between them. It was so thick neither could see the other; so trifling a circumstance tended to calm the annoyance⁠—out of sight, out of mind. As he followed the edge of the ditch, waiting now and then for the dogs to work the hedge thoroughly, Geoffrey became conscious of the beauty of the warm autumn day.</p>
-			<p><i>Puff-puff! puff-puff! hum-m-m!</i> The sound of the distant ploughing engines came humming in the still air. He had noticed previously that his coat-sleeve was flecked with gossamer threads, and now saw that the bushes were white with them. Looking upwards, the atmosphere was full of glistening lines⁠—like the most delicate silk⁠—drooping downwards and shining in the sunlight. As far up as the eye could see, they came showering slowly, noiselessly, down. The surface of the grass was covered with these webs like a broad veil of fragile lace; and his feet, tearing a rent through it were whitened by the accumulated threads. The rooks rose from the oaks with a lazy cawing, loth to leave the ripening acorns, and settled again when he had passed.</p>
+			<p><i>Puff‑puff! puff‑puff! hum‑m‑m!</i> The sound of the distant ploughing engines came humming in the still air. He had noticed previously that his coat-sleeve was flecked with gossamer threads, and now saw that the bushes were white with them. Looking upwards, the atmosphere was full of glistening lines⁠—like the most delicate silk⁠—drooping downwards and shining in the sunlight. As far up as the eye could see, they came showering slowly, noiselessly, down. The surface of the grass was covered with these webs like a broad veil of fragile lace; and his feet, tearing a rent through it were whitened by the accumulated threads. The rooks rose from the oaks with a lazy cawing, loth to leave the ripening acorns, and settled again when he had passed.</p>
 			<p>
-				<i>Hum-m-m! hum-m-m!</i>
+				<i>Hum‑m‑m! hum‑m‑m!</i>
 			</p>
 			<p>Underfoot a soft moss, luxuriating in the shade, almost took the place of grass. The hedge itself was like a wood, so wide and thick⁠—full of ashpoles and hawthorn, crab-tree underwood, willow, elder, and blackthorn, and here and there spreading oak trees. It terminated at the wood; and as they approached it the dogs became more busy; for the rabbits were numerous, and the banks were bored with their holes. Geoffrey kept his gun on the hollow of his left arm⁠—ready for a rabbit⁠—with the muzzle towards the hedge.</p>
 			<p>“Loo! Loo!” cried Valentine, urging the dogs.</p>
 			<p>
-				<i>Puff-puff! hum-m-m!</i>
+				<i>Puff‑puff! hum‑m‑m!</i>
 			</p>
 			<p>Geoffrey, looking intently at the mound, and expecting a rabbit to start every moment, did not notice that a mole had recently thrown up a heap of earth in his path. His foot striking against it caused him to stumble, and, to recover himself, he snatched at a projecting branch of nut-wood. A twig, or perhaps his sleeve, touched the trigger of his gun⁠—the muzzle still towards the hedge⁠—and the sudden explosion that followed jerked the gun from his arm to the ground. Like a bullet the cartridge sang through between the ashpoles, and cut a small pendent bough of willow in twain, not two feet in front of Valentine’s face.</p>
 			<p>“By Jove!” he shouted, “that was meant for me. There!”</p>
@@ -69,7 +69,7 @@
 			<p>Augustus, with his hand now on Valentine’s shoulder, babbled in his ear, and showed him the briar-stick.</p>
 			<p>“I was poking a rabbit-bury,” said he, “when you came along shooting. There ain’t no call to say anything to the Squire. See, here’s bunnie’s fur!” He pointed to the end of the stick, where the sharp curved prickles were left on, having been cut from the other end for ease of handling. To these prickles a little soft fur adhered, together with particles of sand. “I found him⁠—he’s got his head in the bottom of the hole and can’t move, and my other pug is at him. He’s young, and wants lining. When you came along I got down in the ditch under the fern. But, I say, fair play in the army! If this had been a ground-ash stick,”⁠—swishing the briar, which bent easily⁠—“I should have knocked the gun out of your hands; but this briar plied, don’t you see? I must go back for the other ferret presently.”</p>
 			<p>He ran forward to open the gate of the ploughed field for the bearers, who were now a little way in front.</p>
-			<p><i>Puff-puff! puff-puff! hum-m-m!</i> The flywheel whirled about, beating the air to musical resonance; the steel sinew of Behemoth stretched across the stubble, dragging the shares remorselessly through tender roots of pimpernel and creeping convolvulus. <i>Hum-m-m!</i></p>
+			<p><i>Puff‑puff! puff‑puff! hum‑m‑m!</i> The flywheel whirled about, beating the air to musical resonance; the steel sinew of Behemoth stretched across the stubble, dragging the shares remorselessly through tender roots of pimpernel and creeping convolvulus. <i>Hum‑m‑m!</i></p>
 			<p>It was rough travelling over the deep fresh-turned furrows, that exhaled a scent of earth, and their burden was somewhat jolted.</p>
 			<p>“Hulloa, you! What’s up? I say there⁠—you!”</p>
 			<p>The men with the ploughing engines had espied the litter, and, abandoning operations, came running across the field. Thus, surrounded by an excited group, the wounded man was borne over the lawn at Greene Ferne.</p>