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HTML

              
                <!-- Some lorem ibsum showing how various elements lay out, then the first chapter of Frankenstein -->

<header>
  <h1>My Big Book Test</h1>
  <p>By Christopher DeLuca</p>
</header>

<h2>Qui autem de summo bono dissentit de tota philosophiae ratione dissentit.</h2>

<p>Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Quasi ego id curem, quid ille aiat aut neget. Prodest, inquit, mihi eo esse animo. Duo Reges: constructio interrete. Quid ad utilitatem tantae pecuniae? Quam nemo umquam voluptatem appellavit, appellat; Non minor, inquit, voluptas percipitur ex vilissimis rebus quam ex pretiosissimis. </p>

<p>Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Quasi ego id curem, quid ille aiat aut neget. Prodest, inquit, mihi eo esse animo. Duo Reges: constructio interrete. Quid ad utilitatem tantae pecuniae? Quam nemo umquam voluptatem appellavit, appellat; Non minor, inquit, voluptas percipitur ex vilissimis rebus quam ex pretiosissimis. </p>

<blockquote cite="http://loripsum.net">
  Quantam rem agas, ut Circeis qui habitet totum hunc mundum suum municipium esse existimet?
</blockquote>

<p>Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Quasi ego id curem, quid ille aiat aut neget. Prodest, inquit, mihi eo esse animo. Duo Reges: constructio interrete. Quid ad utilitatem tantae pecuniae? Quam nemo umquam voluptatem appellavit, appellat; Non minor, inquit, voluptas percipitur ex vilissimis rebus quam ex pretiosissimis. </p>


<h2>Nummus in Croesi divitiis obscuratur, pars est tamen divitiarum.</h2>

<p>Est enim effectrix multarum et magnarum voluptatum. <i>Si quidem, inquit, tollerem, sed relinquo.</i> Ut proverbia non nulla veriora sint quam vestra dogmata. Memini vero, inquam; Octavio fuit, cum illam severitatem in eo filio adhibuit, quem in adoptionem D. Sit hoc ultimum bonorum, quod nunc a me defenditur; Post enim Chrysippum eum non sane est disputatum. Quid vero? </p>

<hr>

<p>Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Quasi ego id curem, quid ille aiat aut neget. Prodest, inquit, mihi eo esse animo. Duo Reges: constructio interrete. Quid ad utilitatem tantae pecuniae? Quam nemo umquam voluptatem appellavit, appellat; Non minor, inquit, voluptas percipitur ex vilissimis rebus quam ex pretiosissimis. </p>

<p>Est enim effectrix multarum et magnarum voluptatum. <i>Si quidem, inquit, tollerem, sed relinquo.</i> Ut proverbia non nulla veriora sint quam vestra dogmata. Memini vero, inquam; Octavio fuit, cum illam severitatem in eo filio adhibuit, quem in adoptionem D. Sit hoc ultimum bonorum, quod nunc a me defenditur; Post enim Chrysippum eum non sane est disputatum. Quid vero? </p>

<ul>
  <li>Ita multa dicunt, quae vix intellegam.</li>
  <li>An, partus ancillae sitne in fructu habendus, disseretur inter principes civitatis, P.</li>
</ul>


<p>Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Quasi ego id curem, quid ille aiat aut neget. Prodest, inquit, mihi eo esse animo. Duo Reges: constructio interrete. Quid ad utilitatem tantae pecuniae? Quam nemo umquam voluptatem appellavit, appellat; Non minor, inquit, voluptas percipitur ex vilissimis rebus quam ex pretiosissimis. </p>

<hr data-break="hard">

<p>Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Quasi ego id curem, quid ille aiat aut neget. Prodest, inquit, mihi eo esse animo. Duo Reges: constructio interrete. Quid ad utilitatem tantae pecuniae? Quam nemo umquam voluptatem appellavit, appellat; Non minor, inquit, voluptas percipitur ex vilissimis rebus quam ex pretiosissimis. </p>

<ol>
  <li>At ille pellit, qui permulcet sensum voluptate.</li>
  <li>An vero, inquit, quisquam potest probare, quod perceptfum, quod.</li>
  <li>Tu vero, inquam, ducas licet, si sequetur;</li>
</ol>


<p>Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Quasi ego id curem, quid ille aiat aut neget. Prodest, inquit, mihi eo esse animo. Duo Reges: constructio interrete. Quid ad utilitatem tantae pecuniae? Quam nemo umquam voluptatem appellavit, appellat; Non minor, inquit, voluptas percipitur ex vilissimis rebus quam ex pretiosissimis. </p>

<h2><a name="chap01"></a>Chapter 1</h2>

<p>
  I am by birth a Genevese, and my family is one of the most
  distinguished of that republic.  My ancestors had been for many years
  counsellors and syndics, and my father had filled several public
  situations with honour and reputation.  He was respected by all who
  knew him for his integrity and indefatigable attention to public
  business.  He passed his younger days perpetually occupied by the
  affairs of his country; a variety of circumstances had prevented his
  marrying early, nor was it until the decline of life that he became a
  husband and the father of a family.
</p>

<p>
  As the circumstances of his marriage illustrate his character, I cannot
  refrain from relating them.  One of his most intimate friends was a
  merchant who, from a flourishing state, fell, through numerous
  mischances, into poverty.  This man, whose name was Beaufort, was of a
  proud and unbending disposition and could not bear to live in poverty
  and oblivion in the same country where he had formerly been
  distinguished for his rank and magnificence.  Having paid his debts,
  therefore, in the most honourable manner, he retreated with his
  daughter to the town of Lucerne, where he lived unknown and in
  wretchedness.  My father loved Beaufort with the truest friendship and
  was deeply grieved by his retreat in these unfortunate circumstances.
  He bitterly deplored the false pride which led his friend to a conduct
  so little worthy of the affection that united them.  He lost no time in
  endeavouring to seek him out, with the hope of persuading him to begin
  the world again through his credit and assistance.
</p>

<p>
  Beaufort had taken effectual measures to conceal himself, and it was ten
  months before my father discovered his abode. Overjoyed at this discovery,
  he hastened to the house, which was situated in a mean street near the
  Reuss. But when he entered, misery and despair alone welcomed him. Beaufort
  had saved but a very small sum of money from the wreck of his fortunes, but
  it was sufficient to provide him with sustenance for some months, and in
  the meantime he hoped to procure some respectable employment in a
  merchant’s house. The interval was, consequently, spent in inaction;
  his grief only became more deep and rankling when he had leisure for
  reflection, and at length it took so fast hold of his mind that at the end
  of three months he lay on a bed of sickness, incapable of any exertion.
</p>

<p>
  His daughter attended him with the greatest tenderness, but she saw
  with despair that their little fund was rapidly decreasing and that
  there was no other prospect of support.  But Caroline Beaufort
  possessed a mind of an uncommon mould, and her courage rose to support
  her in her adversity.  She procured plain work; she plaited straw and
  by various means contrived to earn a pittance scarcely sufficient to
  support life.
</p>

<p>
  Several months passed in this manner.  Her father grew worse; her time
  was more entirely occupied in attending him; her means of subsistence
  decreased; and in the tenth month her father died in her arms, leaving
  her an orphan and a beggar.  This last blow overcame her, and she knelt
  by Beaufort’s coffin weeping bitterly, when my father entered the
  chamber.  He came like a protecting spirit to the poor girl, who
  committed herself to his care; and after the interment of his friend he
  conducted her to Geneva and placed her under the protection of a
  relation.  Two years after this event Caroline became his wife.
</p>

<p>
  There was a considerable difference between the ages of my parents, but
  this circumstance seemed to unite them only closer in bonds of devoted
  affection.  There was a sense of justice in my father’s upright mind
  which rendered it necessary that he should approve highly to love
  strongly.  Perhaps during former years he had suffered from the
  late-discovered unworthiness of one beloved and so was disposed to set
  a greater value on tried worth.  There was a show of gratitude and
  worship in his attachment to my mother, differing wholly from the
  doting fondness of age, for it was inspired by reverence for her
  virtues and a desire to be the means of, in some degree, recompensing
  her for the sorrows she had endured, but which gave inexpressible grace
  to his behaviour to her.  Everything was made to yield to her wishes
  and her convenience.  He strove to shelter her, as a fair exotic is
  sheltered by the gardener, from every rougher wind and to surround her
  with all that could tend to excite pleasurable emotion in her soft and
  benevolent mind.  Her health, and even the tranquillity of her hitherto
  constant spirit, had been shaken by what she had gone through.  During
  the two years that had elapsed previous to their marriage my father had
  gradually relinquished all his public functions; and immediately after
  their union they sought the pleasant climate of Italy, and the change
  of scene and interest attendant on a tour through that land of wonders,
  as a restorative for her weakened frame.
</p>

<p>
  From Italy they visited Germany and France. I, their eldest child, was born
  at Naples, and as an infant accompanied them in their rambles. I remained
  for several years their only child. Much as they were attached to each
  other, they seemed to draw inexhaustible stores of affection from a very
  mine of love to bestow them upon me. My mother’s tender caresses and
  my father’s smile of benevolent pleasure while regarding me are my
  first recollections. I was their plaything and their idol, and something
  better—their child, the innocent and helpless creature bestowed on
  them by Heaven, whom to bring up to good, and whose future lot it was in
  their hands to direct to happiness or misery, according as they fulfilled
  their duties towards me. With this deep consciousness of what they owed
  towards the being to which they had given life, added to the active spirit
  of tenderness that animated both, it may be imagined that while during
  every hour of my infant life I received a lesson of patience, of charity,
  and of self-control, I was so guided by a silken cord that all seemed but
  one train of enjoyment to me.
</p>

<p>
  For a long time I was their only care. My mother had much desired to have a
  daughter, but I continued their single offspring. When I was about five
  years old, while making an excursion beyond the frontiers of Italy, they
  passed a week on the shores of the Lake of Como. Their benevolent
  disposition often made them enter the cottages of the poor. This, to my
  mother, was more than a duty; it was a necessity, a
  passion—remembering what she had suffered, and how she had been
  relieved—for her to act in her turn the guardian angel to the
  afflicted. During one of their walks a poor cot in the foldings of a vale
  attracted their notice as being singularly disconsolate, while the number
  of half-clothed children gathered about it spoke of penury in its worst
  shape. One day, when my father had gone by himself to Milan, my mother,
  accompanied by me, visited this abode. She found a peasant and his wife,
  hard working, bent down by care and labour, distributing a scanty meal to
  five hungry babes. Among these there was one which attracted my mother far
  above all the rest. She appeared of a different stock. The four others were
  dark-eyed, hardy little vagrants; this child was thin and very fair. Her
  hair was the brightest living gold, and despite the poverty of her
  clothing, seemed to set a crown of distinction on her head. Her brow was
  clear and ample, her blue eyes cloudless, and her lips and the moulding of
  her face so expressive of sensibility and sweetness that none could behold
  her without looking on her as of a distinct species, a being heaven-sent,
  and bearing a celestial stamp in all her features.
</p>

<p>
  The peasant woman, perceiving that my mother fixed eyes of wonder and
  admiration on this lovely girl, eagerly communicated her history. She was
  not her child, but the daughter of a Milanese nobleman. Her mother was a
  German and had died on giving her birth. The infant had been placed with
  these good people to nurse: they were better off then. They had not been
  long married, and their eldest child was but just born. The father of their
  charge was one of those Italians nursed in the memory of the antique glory
  of Italy—one among the <i>schiavi ognor frementi,</i> who exerted
  himself to obtain the liberty of his country. He became the victim of its
  weakness. Whether he had died or still lingered in the dungeons of Austria
  was not known. His property was confiscated; his child became an orphan and
  a beggar. She continued with her foster parents and bloomed in their rude
  abode, fairer than a garden rose among dark-leaved brambles.
</p>

<p>
  When my father returned from Milan, he found playing with me in the hall of
  our villa a child fairer than pictured cherub—a creature who seemed
  to shed radiance from her looks and whose form and motions were lighter
  than the chamois of the hills. The apparition was soon explained. With his
  permission my mother prevailed on her rustic guardians to yield their
  charge to her. They were fond of the sweet orphan. Her presence had seemed
  a blessing to them, but it would be unfair to her to keep her in poverty
  and want when Providence afforded her such powerful protection. They
  consulted their village priest, and the result was that Elizabeth Lavenza
  became the inmate of my parents’ house—my more than
  sister—the beautiful and adored companion of all my occupations and
  my pleasures.
</p>

<p>
  Everyone loved Elizabeth.  The passionate and almost reverential
  attachment with which all regarded her became, while I shared it, my
  pride and my delight.  On the evening previous to her being brought to
  my home, my mother had said playfully, “I have a pretty present for my
  Victor—tomorrow he shall have it.”  And when, on the morrow, she
  presented Elizabeth to me as her promised gift, I, with childish
  seriousness, interpreted her words literally and looked upon Elizabeth
  as mine—mine to protect, love, and cherish.  All praises bestowed on
  her I received as made to a possession of my own.  We called each other
  familiarly by the name of cousin.  No word, no expression could body
  forth the kind of relation in which she stood to me—my more than
  sister, since till death she was to be mine only.
</p>
              
            
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CSS

              
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  font-size: 14pt;
  line-height: 1.6;
  margin: 0 auto;
  max-width: 65ch;
}

header {
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}

h1, h2, h3, h4, h5, h6 {
  margin-top: 2em;
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}

h2 {
  break-before: page;
}

p {
  margin: 0;
}

/* Add text indents to every paragraph except the first. This includes other
elements, so there will be no text indent after let's say an image or a list. */
p + p {
  text-indent: 2ch;
}

hr {
  border: none;
  margin-bottom: 2em;
}

hr[data-break="hard"] {
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  text-align: center;
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hr[data-break="hard"]::before {
  content: "* * *";
}
              
            
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JS

              
                
              
            
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999px

Console