Update README.md

README.md

@@ -14,40 +14,42 @@ license: cc-by-sa-4.0
 
 With the incipit of Proust's *Swann's Way*:
 
-*Combray at a distance, from a twenty-mile radius, as we used to see it from the railway when we arrived there every year in Holy Week, was no more than a church epitomising the town, representing it, speaking of it and for it to the horizon, and as one drew near, gathering close about its long, dark cloak, sheltering from the wind, on the open plain, as a shepherd gathers his sheep, the woolly grey backs of its flocking houses, which a fragment of its mediaeval ramparts enclosed, here and there, in an outline as scrupulously circular as that of a little town in a primitive painting. To live in, Combray was a trifle depressing, like its streets, whose houses, built of the blackened stone of the country, fronted with outside steps, capped with gables which projected long shadows downwards, were so dark that one had, as soon as the sun began to go down, to draw back the curtains in the sitting-room windows; streets with the solemn names of Saints, not a few of whom figured in the history of the early lords of Combray, such as the Rue Saint-Hilaire, the Rue Saint-Jacques, in which my aunt's house stood, the Rue Sainte-Hildegarde, which ran past her railings, and the Rue du Saint-Esprit, on to which the little garden gate opened; and these Combray streets exist in so remote a quarter of my memory, painted in colours so different from those in which the world is decked for me to-day, that in fact one and all of them, and the church which towered above them in the Square, seem to me now more unsubstantial than the projections of my magic-lantern; while at times I feel that to be able to cross the Rue Saint-Hilaire again, to engage a room in the Rue de l'Oiseau, in the old hostelry of the Oiseau Flesché, from whose windows in the pavement used to rise a smell of cooking which rises still in my mind, now and then, in the same warm gusts of comfort, would be to secure a contact with the unseen world more marvellously supernatural than it would be to make Golo's acquaintance and to chat with Geneviève de Brabant.*
-
-```Summary: The narrator reflects on their childhood memories of Combray, a town with dark and depressing streets.
-Trope: The town as a character
-Narrative arc: Reflective
-Enunciation: First-person narrative
-Tone: Nostalgic
-Genre: Memoir
-Intertextuality: Historical accounts of Combray
-Speech standard: Poetic
-Literary form: Description of a place
-Literary movement: Symbolism
-Active character: The narrator, the aunt
-Time setting: Childhood
-Absolute place: Combray
-Fuzzy place: Combray```
+> Combray at a distance, from a twenty-mile radius, as we used to see it from the railway when we arrived there every year in Holy Week, was no more than a church epitomising the town, representing it, speaking of it and for it to the horizon, and as one drew near, gathering close about its long, dark cloak, sheltering from the wind, on the open plain, as a shepherd gathers his sheep, the woolly grey backs of its flocking houses, which a fragment of its mediaeval ramparts enclosed, here and there, in an outline as scrupulously circular as that of a little town in a primitive painting. To live in, Combray was a trifle depressing, like its streets, whose houses, built of the blackened stone of the country, fronted with outside steps, capped with gables which projected long shadows downwards, were so dark that one had, as soon as the sun began to go down, to draw back the curtains in the sitting-room windows; streets with the solemn names of Saints, not a few of whom figured in the history of the early lords of Combray, such as the Rue Saint-Hilaire, the Rue Saint-Jacques, in which my aunt's house stood, the Rue Sainte-Hildegarde, which ran past her railings, and the Rue du Saint-Esprit, on to which the little garden gate opened; and these Combray streets exist in so remote a quarter of my memory, painted in colours so different from those in which the world is decked for me to-day, that in fact one and all of them, and the church which towered above them in the Square, seem to me now more unsubstantial than the projections of my magic-lantern; while at times I feel that to be able to cross the Rue Saint-Hilaire again, to engage a room in the Rue de l'Oiseau, in the old hostelry of the Oiseau Flesché, from whose windows in the pavement used to rise a smell of cooking which rises still in my mind, now and then, in the same warm gusts of comfort, would be to secure a contact with the unseen world more marvellously supernatural than it would be to make Golo's acquaintance and to chat with Geneviève de Brabant.*
+
+Output of Brahe:
+
+> Summary: The narrator reflects on their childhood memories of Combray, a town with dark and depressing streets.
+> Trope: The town as a character
+> Narrative arc: Reflective
+> Enunciation: First-person narrative
+> Tone: Nostalgic
+> Genre: Memoir
+> Intertextuality: Historical accounts of Combray
+> Speech standard: Poetic
+> Literary form: Description of a place
+> Literary movement: Symbolism
+> Active character: The narrator, the aunt
+> Time setting: Childhood
+> Absolute place: Combray
+> Fuzzy place: Combray
 
 With the incipit of Henry James' *The Ambassadors*:
 
-*Strether\'s first question, when he reached the hotel, was about his friend; yet on his learning that Waymarsh was apparently not to arrive till evening he was not wholly disconcerted. A telegram from him bespeaking a room "only if not noisy," with the answer paid, was produced for the inquirer at the office, so that the understanding that they should meet at Chester rather than at Liverpool remained to that extent sound. The same secret principle, however, that had prompted Strether not absolutely to desire Waymarsh\'s presence at the dock, that had led him thus to postpone for a few hours his enjoyment of it, now operated to make him feel that he could still wait without disappointment. They would dine together at the worst, and, with all respect to dear old Waymarsh—if not even, for that matter, to himself—there was little fear that in the sequel they should not see enough of each other. The principle I have just mentioned as operating had been, with the most newly-disembarked of the two men, wholly instinctive—the fruit of a sharp sense that, delightful as it would be to find himself looking, after so much separation, into his comrade\'s face, his business would be a trifle bungled should he simply arrange that this countenance should present itself to the nearing steamer as the first "note," for him, of Europe. Mixed with everything was the apprehension, already, on Strether\'s part, that he would, at best, throughout, prove the note of Europe in quite a sufficient degree.*
-
-```Summary: Strether is waiting for his friend Waymarsh to arrive at the hotel, but is not completely disappointed when he learns that Waymarsh will not arrive until evening. Strether has a secret principle that led him to postpone meeting Waymarsh at the dock, but now feels that they will see enough of each other. Strether is concerned that his presence in Europe will be enough of a note for his friend.
-Trope: The anticipation of meeting a friend
-Narrative arc: Suspense
-Enunciation: Third-person narrative
-Tone: Anticipatory
-Genre: Literary fiction
-Intertextuality: Travelogue
-Speech standard: Standard
-Literary form: Stream of consciousness
-Literary movement: Realism
-Active character: Strether, Waymarsh
-Time setting: Contemporary
-Fuzzy time: Evening
-Diegetic time: A few hours
-Absolute place: The hotel
-Fuzzy place: The hotel```
+>*Strether\'s first question, when he reached the hotel, was about his friend; yet on his learning that Waymarsh was apparently not to arrive till evening he was not wholly disconcerted. A telegram from him bespeaking a room "only if not noisy," with the answer paid, was produced for the inquirer at the office, so that the understanding that they should meet at Chester rather than at Liverpool remained to that extent sound. The same secret principle, however, that had prompted Strether not absolutely to desire Waymarsh\'s presence at the dock, that had led him thus to postpone for a few hours his enjoyment of it, now operated to make him feel that he could still wait without disappointment. They would dine together at the worst, and, with all respect to dear old Waymarsh—if not even, for that matter, to himself—there was little fear that in the sequel they should not see enough of each other. The principle I have just mentioned as operating had been, with the most newly-disembarked of the two men, wholly instinctive—the fruit of a sharp sense that, delightful as it would be to find himself looking, after so much separation, into his comrade\'s face, his business would be a trifle bungled should he simply arrange that this countenance should present itself to the nearing steamer as the first "note," for him, of Europe. Mixed with everything was the apprehension, already, on Strether\'s part, that he would, at best, throughout, prove the note of Europe in quite a sufficient degree.*
+
+> Summary: Strether is waiting for his friend Waymarsh to arrive at the hotel, but is not completely disappointed when he learns that Waymarsh will not arrive until evening. Strether has a secret principle that led him to postpone meeting Waymarsh at the dock, but now feels that they will see enough of each other. Strether is concerned that his presence in Europe will be enough of a note for his friend.
+> Trope: The anticipation of meeting a friend
+> Narrative arc: Suspense
+> Enunciation: Third-person narrative
+> Tone: Anticipatory
+> Genre: Literary fiction
+> Intertextuality: Travelogue
+> Speech standard: Standard
+> Literary form: Stream of consciousness
+> Literary movement: Realism
+> Active character: Strether, Waymarsh
+> Time setting: Contemporary
+> Fuzzy time: Evening
+> Diegetic time: A few hours
+> Absolute place: The hotel
+> Fuzzy place: The hotel