Use no-break hyphen for sounds

src/epub/content.opf

@@ -69,7 +69,7 @@
 		<dc:source>https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/35997</dc:source>
 		<dc:source>https://catalog.hathitrust.org/Record/000591672</dc:source>
 		<meta property="se:production-notes">Kipling uses [] to indicate inline translations. There was some debate on whether to pop out those out into footnotes. For now we will leave them as-is, as including footnotes would detract from the children's-fable-like aspect of these stories. An additional translation not in brackets (since it's not inline in dialog) is in her-majestys-servants.xhtml: "(It is an order)"</meta>
-		<meta property="se:word-count">51562</meta>
+		<meta property="se:word-count">51564</meta>
 		<meta property="se:reading-ease.flesch">78.18</meta>
 		<meta property="se:url.encyclopedia.wikipedia">https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Jungle_Book</meta>
 		<meta property="se:url.vcs.github">https://github.com/standardebooks/rudyard-kipling_the-jungle-book</meta>

src/epub/text/toomai-of-the-elephants.xhtml

@@ -42,7 +42,7 @@
 			<p>“Umph!” said Big Toomai. “Thou art a boy, and as wild as a buffalo-calf. This running up and down among the hills is not the best Government service. I am getting old, and I do not love wild elephants. Give me brick elephant-lines, one stall to each elephant, and big stumps to tie them to safely, and flat, broad roads to exercise upon, instead of this come-and-go camping. Aha, the Cawnpore barracks were good. There was a bazaar close by, and only three hours’ work a day.”</p>
 			<p>Little Toomai remembered the Cawnpore elephant-lines and said nothing. He very much preferred the camp life, and hated those broad, flat roads, with the daily grubbing for grass in the forage-reserve, and the long hours when there was nothing to do except to watch Kala Nag fidgeting in his pickets.</p>
 			<p>What Little Toomai liked was to scramble up bridle-paths that only an elephant could take; the dip into the valley below; the glimpses of the wild elephants browsing miles away; the rush of the frightened pig and peacock under Kala Nag’s feet; the blinding warm rains, when all the hills and valleys smoked; the beautiful misty mornings when nobody knew where they would camp that night; the steady, cautious drive of the wild elephants, and the mad rush and blaze and hullaballoo of the last night’s drive, when the elephants poured into the stockade like boulders in a landslide, found that they could not get out, and flung themselves at the heavy posts only to be driven back by yells and flaring torches and volleys of blank cartridge.</p>
-			<p>Even a little boy could be of use there, and Toomai was as useful as three boys. He would get his torch and wave it, and yell with the best. But the really good time came when the driving out began, and the Keddah, that is, the stockade, looked like a picture of the end of the world, and men had to make signs to one another, because they could not hear themselves speak. Then Little Toomai would climb up to the top of one of the quivering stockade-posts, his sun-bleached brown hair flying loose all over his shoulders, and he looking like a goblin in the torchlight; and as soon as there was a lull you could hear his high-pitched yells of encouragement to Kala Nag, above the trumpeting and crashing, and snapping of ropes, and groans of the tethered elephants. “<i xml:lang="x-jungle">Maîl, maîl, Kala Nag!</i> [Go on, go on, Black Snake!] <i xml:lang="x-jungle">Dant do!</i> [Give him the tusk!] <i xml:lang="x-jungle">Somalo! Somalo!</i> [Careful, careful!] <i xml:lang="x-jungle">Maro! Mar!</i> [Hit him, hit him!] Mind the post! <i>Arre! Arre! Hai! Yai! Kya-a-ah!</i>” he would shout, and the big fight between Kala Nag and the wild elephant would sway to and fro across the Keddah, and the old elephant-catchers would wipe the sweat out of their eyes, and find time to nod to Little Toomai wriggling with joy on the top of the posts.</p>
+			<p>Even a little boy could be of use there, and Toomai was as useful as three boys. He would get his torch and wave it, and yell with the best. But the really good time came when the driving out began, and the Keddah, that is, the stockade, looked like a picture of the end of the world, and men had to make signs to one another, because they could not hear themselves speak. Then Little Toomai would climb up to the top of one of the quivering stockade-posts, his sun-bleached brown hair flying loose all over his shoulders, and he looking like a goblin in the torchlight; and as soon as there was a lull you could hear his high-pitched yells of encouragement to Kala Nag, above the trumpeting and crashing, and snapping of ropes, and groans of the tethered elephants. “<i xml:lang="x-jungle">Maîl, maîl, Kala Nag!</i> [Go on, go on, Black Snake!] <i xml:lang="x-jungle">Dant do!</i> [Give him the tusk!] <i xml:lang="x-jungle">Somalo! Somalo!</i> [Careful, careful!] <i xml:lang="x-jungle">Maro! Mar!</i> [Hit him, hit him!] Mind the post! <i>Arre! Arre! Hai! Yai! Kya‑a‑ah!</i>” he would shout, and the big fight between Kala Nag and the wild elephant would sway to and fro across the Keddah, and the old elephant-catchers would wipe the sweat out of their eyes, and find time to nod to Little Toomai wriggling with joy on the top of the posts.</p>
 			<p>He did more than wriggle. One night he slid down from the post and slipped in between the elephants, and threw up the loose end of a rope, which had dropped, to a driver who was trying to get a purchase on the leg of a kicking young calf (calves always give more trouble than full-grown animals). Kala Nag saw him, caught him in his trunk, and handed him up to Big Toomai, who slapped him then and there, and put him back on the post.</p>
 			<p>Next morning he gave him a scolding, and said: “Are not good brick elephant-lines and a little tent-carrying enough, that thou must needs go elephant-catching on thy own account, little worthless? Now those foolish hunters, whose pay is less than my pay, have spoken to Petersen Sahib of the matter.” Little Toomai was frightened. He did not know much of white men, but Petersen Sahib was the greatest white man in the world to him. He was the head of all the Keddah operations⁠—the man who caught all the elephants for the Government of India, and who knew more about the ways of elephants than any living man.</p>
 			<p>“What⁠—what will happen?” said Little Toomai.</p>
@@ -97,7 +97,7 @@
 					<span class="i1">And mother’s heart for sleepy head, O little son of mine!</span>
 				</p>
 			</blockquote>
-			<p>Little Toomai came in with a joyous <i>tunk-a-tunk</i> at the end of each verse, till he felt sleepy and stretched himself on the fodder at Kala Nag’s side.</p>
+			<p>Little Toomai came in with a joyous <i>tunk‑a‑tunk</i> at the end of each verse, till he felt sleepy and stretched himself on the fodder at Kala Nag’s side.</p>
 			<p>At last the elephants began to lie down one after another as is their custom, till only Kala Nag at the right of the line was left standing up; and he rocked slowly from side to side, his ears put forward to listen to the night wind as it blew very slowly across the hills. The air was full of all the night noises that, taken together, make one big silence⁠—the click of one bamboo-stem against the other, the rustle of something alive in the undergrowth, the scratch and squawk of a half-waked bird (birds are awake in the night much more often than we imagine), and the fall of water ever so far away. Little Toomai slept for some time, and when he waked it was brilliant moonlight, and Kala Nag was still standing up with his ears cocked. Little Toomai turned, rustling in the fodder, and watched the curve of his big back against half the stars in heaven, and while he watched he heard, so far away that it sounded no more than a pinhole of noise pricked through the stillness, the “hoot-toot” of a wild elephant.</p>
 			<p>All the elephants in the lines jumped up as if they had been shot, and their grunts at last waked the sleeping mahouts, and they came out and drove in the picket-pegs with big mallets, and tightened this rope and knotted that till all was quiet. One new elephant had nearly grubbed up his picket, and Big Toomai took off Kala Nag’s leg-chain and shackled that elephant fore foot to hind foot, but slipped a loop of grass-string round Kala Nag’s leg, and told him to remember that he was tied fast. He knew that he and his father and his grandfather had done the very same thing hundreds of times before. Kala Nag did not answer to the order by gurgling, as he usually did. He stood still, looking out across the moonlight, his head a little raised and his ears spread like fans, up to the great folds of the Garo hills.</p>
 			<p>“Look to him if he grows restless in the night,” said Big Toomai to Little Toomai, and he went into the hut and slept. Little Toomai was just going to sleep, too, when he heard the coir string snap with a little <i>tang</i>, and Kala Nag rolled out of his pickets as slowly and as silently as a cloud rolls out of the mouth of a valley. Little Toomai pattered after him, barefooted, down the road in the moonlight, calling under his breath, “Kala Nag! Kala Nag! Take me with you, O Kala Nag!” The elephant turned without a sound, took three strides back to the boy in the moonlight, put down his trunk, swung him up to his neck, and almost before Little Toomai had settled his knees, slipped into the forest.</p>