Typogrify

src/epub/text/chapter-5.xhtml

@@ -48,7 +48,7 @@
 			<p>“Looks very good,” he remarked vaguely. “One of the papers said they thought the rain would stop about four. I think it was <i epub:type="se:name.publication.newspaper">The Journal</i>. Have you got everything you need in the shape of⁠—of tea?”</p>
 			<p>I took him into the pantry, where he looked a little reproachfully at the Finn. Together we scrutinized the twelve lemon cakes from the delicatessen shop.</p>
 			<p>“Will they do?” I asked.</p>
-			<p>“Of course, of course! They’re fine!” and he added hollowly, “… old sport.”</p>
+			<p>“Of course, of course! They’re fine!” and he added hollowly, “… old sport.”</p>
 			<p>The rain cooled about half-past three to a damp mist, through which occasional thin drops swam like dew. Gatsby looked with vacant eyes through a copy of Clay’s <i epub:type="se:name.publication.book">Economics</i>, starting at the Finnish tread that shook the kitchen floor, and peering towards the bleared windows from time to time as if a series of invisible but alarming happenings were taking place outside. Finally he got up and informed me, in an uncertain voice, that he was going home.</p>
 			<p>“Why’s that?”</p>
 			<p>“Nobody’s coming to tea. It’s too late!” He looked at his watch as if there was some pressing demand on his time elsewhere. “I can’t wait all day.”</p>