Fixes a missing period on an abbreviation (it should have been there but was accidentally removed)

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 			<p>The method pursued in the sections was delightfully simple and gratifying to every member’s vanity. He was supplied with pen and ink, and told to put down all he could recollect about his family. The result was that in each section there were five or six people⁠—and in some more⁠—all busily at work, writing autobiographies; and as everybody considered himself of quite as much consequence as his neighbour, the bulk of these autobiographies can easily be imagined.</p>
 			<p>If anyone had taken the trouble to wade through these personal histories, he would have been highly gratified with the fertility of the United States in breeding truly benevolent, upright, and distinguished men!</p>
 			<p>Out of all that one hundred and fifty there was not one who did not merit the gratitude of his township at least, and some were fully worthy of the President’s chair at the White House. Their labours for the good of others were most carefully recorded⁠—the subscriptions they had made to local charities far away on the other side of the Atlantic, to schoolhouses, and chapels, town-halls, and whatnot.</p>
-      <p>“There,” ran many a proud record⁠—“you will see my initials upon the cornerstone⁠—‘<abbr epub:type="z3998:given-name">J. I. B.</abbr>,’ for ‘Jonathan Ithuriel Baskette,’ and the date (186—), which is in itself good evidence towards my case.”</p>
+			<p>“There,” ran many a proud record⁠—“you will see my initials upon the cornerstone⁠—‘<abbr epub:type="z3998:given-name">J. I. B.</abbr>,’ for ‘Jonathan Ithuriel Baskette,’ and the date (186—), which is in itself good evidence towards my case.”</p>
 			<p>All this mass of rubbish had to be sifted by the central committee, to be docketed, indexed, arranged, and a general analysis made of it.</p>
 			<p>They worked for a while without a murmur, and suddenly collapsed. It was impossible to meet the flood of writing. Fancy one hundred and fifty people writing their autobiographies all at once, and each determined to do himself justice! Such a spectacle was never witnessed since the world began, and was worthy of the nineteenth century. The central committee flung up their hands in despair. A resource was presently found in the printing-press.</p>
 			<p>When once the idea was started, the cry spread to all corners of the hall, and rose in a volume of sound to be echoed from the roof. The Press! The Spirit evoked by Faust which he could not control, nor any who have followed him.</p>

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@@ -13,8 +13,8 @@
 			<p>Not all the poverty and restraint of the years upon Wick Farm at World’s End, not all the terrible disappointment on the very day when every hope seemed on the point of realisation; nothing could dull his vivid imagination, or make him abate one iota of the future which he had marked out for Violet.</p>
 			<p>In truth, she wondered why he had never asked her to come to him⁠—to be married and live with him in his humble lodgings at Barnham. She would have been happy and content. But to Aymer the idea was impossible. All the romance of his life was woven around her head; he would not bring her to miserable back rooms, to a confined narrow life in a third-class street. It would have been to admit that his whole being was a failure; that he had formed hopes and dreamed dreams beyond his power ever to grasp, and his spirit was not yet broken to that. No, he would struggle and work, and bear anything for Violet’s sake. Anything but this miserable monotony without progress. Had there been progress, however slow, he might have tamed his impatient mind and forced himself to endure it.</p>
 			<p>Day after day passed, the nights came and went, and each morning found him precisely in the same position as before. His organisation was too sensitive, too highly wrought, eager, nervous, for the dull plodding of daily life. He chafed against it, till dark circles formed themselves under his eyelids⁠—circles which sleep would not remove. These were partly caused by overwork.</p>
-      <p>Broughton, on returning from Stirmingham, found his affairs at Barnham had got into a fearful state of muddle, and Aymer had to assist him to clear the Augean stable of accumulated correspondence, and satisfy neglected clients. Often, after a long day’s work, he had to carry accounts or correspondence home with him and finish it there, and then after that he would open his own plain simple desk⁠—much such a desk as the one that had belonged to poor Cornet De Warren⁠—and resume his interrupted <abbr class="eoc">MS.</abbr></p>
-      <p>After a while it became unbearable; the poor fellow grew desperate. He might not have so soon given way, had not a slight attack of illness, not sufficient to confine him indoors, added to the tension of his nerves. He determined to stay on until his <abbr>MS.</abbr> was finished⁠—till the last word had been written, and the last sketch elaborated⁠—then he would go to London, no matter what became of him. If all else failed he could, at the last, return to Wick Farm; they would give him a bed and a crust, and he would be no worse off than before.</p>
+			<p>Broughton, on returning from Stirmingham, found his affairs at Barnham had got into a fearful state of muddle, and Aymer had to assist him to clear the Augean stable of accumulated correspondence, and satisfy neglected clients. Often, after a long day’s work, he had to carry accounts or correspondence home with him and finish it there, and then after that he would open his own plain simple desk⁠—much such a desk as the one that had belonged to poor Cornet De Warren⁠—and resume his interrupted <abbr class="eoc">MS.</abbr></p>
+			<p>After a while it became unbearable; the poor fellow grew desperate. He might not have so soon given way, had not a slight attack of illness, not sufficient to confine him indoors, added to the tension of his nerves. He determined to stay on until his <abbr>MS.</abbr> was finished⁠—till the last word had been written, and the last sketch elaborated⁠—then he would go to London, no matter what became of him. If all else failed he could, at the last, return to Wick Farm; they would give him a bed and a crust, and he would be no worse off than before.</p>
 			<p>He toiled at his book at midnight, and long hours afterwards, when the good people of Barnham town were calmly sleeping the sleep of the just, and permitting the talent in their midst to eat its own heart. At last it was finished, and he left.</p>
 			<p><abbr>Mr.</abbr> Broughton wished him to stay, offered to increase his salary, said that he had become really useful, and even, as a personal favour, begged him to remain. Aymer thanked him sincerely, but was firm⁠—he must go. So far as was possible he explained to Broughton the reason, and the lawyer, hard as he was, had sufficient power of understanding others to perceive the real state of affairs. He warned Aymer that certain disappointment awaited him in London, that no publisher would issue a book by an unknown author unless paid for it. Aymer shook his head sadly⁠—he had known that well enough long ago, but he must go.</p>
 			<p>Broughton shook hands with him, gave him a five-pound note over and above his salary, and told him if in distress, as he prophesied he would certainly soon be, to write to him, or else return.</p>
@@ -39,7 +39,7 @@
 			<p>This process, or pretty much the same process, was repeated for two or three days, until poor Aymer, naturally enough, lost heart.</p>
 			<p>As he left one publisher’s shop, a clerk, who was writing at his desk near the door, noticed his careworn look, and having once gone through a somewhat similar experience, and seeing “gentleman” marked upon his features, asked him if he would show him the work.</p>
 			<p>Aymer did so. The clerk, an experienced man, turned over the illustrations carefully, and then appeared to ponder.</p>
-      <p>“These are good,” he said; “they would certainly take if they were published. But so also would a great many other things. The difficulty is to get them published, unless you have a name. Now take my advice⁠—It is useless carrying the <abbr>MS</abbr> from door to door. You may tramp over London without success. Your best plan will be to bring it out at your own cost; once out you will get a reputation, and then you can sell your next. I don’t want to be personal, but have you any money? I see⁠—you have a little. Well, you need not pay all the cost. Go to so-and-so⁠—offer them, let me see, such-and-such a sum, and not a shilling more, and your business is done.”</p>
+			<p>“These are good,” he said; “they would certainly take if they were published. But so also would a great many other things. The difficulty is to get them published, unless you have a name. Now take my advice⁠—It is useless carrying the <abbr>MS.</abbr> from door to door. You may tramp over London without success. Your best plan will be to bring it out at your own cost; once out you will get a reputation, and then you can sell your next. I don’t want to be personal, but have you any money? I see⁠—you have a little. Well, you need not pay all the cost. Go to so-and-so⁠—offer them, let me see, such-and-such a sum, and not a shilling more, and your business is done.”</p>
 			<p>Aymer, as he walked along busy Fleet Street and up into the Strand, thought over this advice, and it sounded reasonable enough⁠—too reasonable. For he had so little money. When all he had saved from the gift of fifty pounds, his salary, and Broughton’s present, were added together, he had but forty-seven pounds. Out of this he was advised to expend forty pounds in one lump; to him it seemed like risking a fortune. But Violet? His book? He could not help, even after all his disappointments, feeling a certain faith in his book.</p>
 			<p>Westwards he walked, past the famous bronze lions, and the idea came into his mind⁠—How did the hero of Trafalgar win his fame? Was it not by courage only⁠—simple courage? On, then. He went to the firm mentioned. They haggled for a larger sum; but Aymer was firm, for the simple reason that he had no more to give. Then they wanted a few days to consider.</p>
 			<p>This he could not refuse; and these days passed slowly, while his stock of money diminished every hour. Finally they agreed to publish the work, but bound him down to such conditions, that it was hard to see how he could recover a tenth part of his investment, much less obtain a profit. He signed the agreement, paid the money, and walked forth.</p>