Use no-break hyphen for sounds

src/epub/content.opf

@@ -47,7 +47,7 @@
 		<dc:source>https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/60685</dc:source>
 		<dc:source>https://archive.org/details/downstream00siwe</dc:source>
 		<meta property="se:production-notes">Used page scans appear to be a minor edit of the Classen translation, first seen in these page scans: https://ia801901.us.archive.org/21/items/in.ernet.dli.2015.39555/2015.39555.Downstream_text.pdf</meta>
-		<meta property="se:word-count">127166</meta>
+		<meta property="se:word-count">127168</meta>
 		<meta property="se:reading-ease.flesch">74.29</meta>
 		<meta property="se:url.vcs.github">https://github.com/standardebooks/sigfrid-siwertz_downstream_e-classen</meta>
 		<dc:creator id="author">Sigfrid Siwertz</dc:creator>

src/epub/text/chapter-1-7.xhtml

@@ -15,7 +15,7 @@
 			<p>Peter was alone in the day time. As he had failed again in his examination, he had had to leave school and it was not yet decided what he was going to do. But time passed quickly all the same, for recently he had lots of things to attend to.</p>
 			<p>For example, the great pig-slaughter. Since six o’clock this morning he had been strolling about in the dark yard and as soon as dawn came he was down by the pigsty behind the cowshed.</p>
 			<p>The cowherd came trailing one poor pig after another. Then they were raised on to the slaughter block and instantly Anders, the stable man, stuck them in the neck so that the blood spurted out. The bailiff was there himself, and scratched the pigs’ backs with his stick and chatted in friendly tones to them before execution. But old Kristin was no longer there with the pail to collect the blood. As long as she kept going, she had taken part in the slaughter of the pigs. Silent and solemn she used to stand there bent over her pail, stirring the blood as did the rest of the tribe in days of old at the great winter sacrifice. There was a strange emptiness after her. But the crows were still here. Flocks of them settled in the high bare lime tree and their croaking seemed like the voice of the grey November day. Now and then they flew for a moment down towards the steaming hot tripe as if to give a reminder of their ancient rights.</p>
-			<p><i>I-i-i-i!</i> squeaked a pig again, and the crows rose for a moment as if from the pressure of the cry. But Peter kept near the corner of the cowshed the whole time; he came no nearer, and Brundin thought he was frightened:</p>
+			<p><i>I‑i‑i‑i!</i> squeaked a pig again, and the crows rose for a moment as if from the pressure of the cry. But Peter kept near the corner of the cowshed the whole time; he came no nearer, and Brundin thought he was frightened:</p>
 			<p>“Come and help us. What kind of a country lad are you to be frightened of the killing?”</p>
 			<p>But the bailiff was mistaken. Peter was not at all frightened because the pigs were squeaking. He was only afraid that they were squeaking for Brundin’s benefit and not for his own and Selambshof’s. He stood anyhow sufficiently near to hear what was called out at the weighing machine, and if you looked carefully you could see that his lips moved the whole time. He stood there counting and muttering the figures in an undertone in order to get them to stick in his memory. For Peter had really a great deal in his memory. It was not the first time he had stood aside like this and counted and measured. But then he also knew to a nicety how much grain, potatoes, milk and butter had been driven into town during the whole autumn. What cunning, what tricks and pretences, what long patient watches had not been necessary to keep count of all this. No, Peter was not troubled for the pigs’ sakes. There was good reason to look out for Peter the Watchdog nowadays. He no more looked as if he was afraid of a beating. And he had become bigger of body and deeper of voice.</p>
 			<p>Of course Peter was still afraid of Brundin. But his terror no longer rose up like a mountain in front of him. Brundin’s great and wonderful power had already been dealt the first blow. That was when the mighty Brundin had agreed without protest to Frida’s being dismissed. Peter had brooded for days over this. And as he pondered he observed that Brundin did not reach into the clouds. And his great fear shrank up exquisitely into a little heap of envy, anxiety and angry suspicion.</p>