text_original: Peacock looked at him full this time; there was no longer any quaver in his voice, but a sort of rough good humour. "Wy, the 'arf o' them's as rotten as matchwood!" he said; and he took a breath of relief, for he knew that gratitude was dead within his soul.
text_transcription: PEACOCK LOOKED AT HIM FULL THIS TIME THERE WAS NO LONGER ANY QUAVER IN HIS VOICE BUT A SORT OF ROUGH GOOD HUMOR WHY THE ART SOME EM AS ROTTEN AS MATCHWOOD HE SAID AND HE TOOK A BREATH OF RELIEF FOR HE KNEW THAT GRATITUDE WAS DEAD WITHIN HIS SOUL
phonemes: pˈiːkɑːk lˈʊkt æt hˌɪm fˈʊl ðɪs tˈaɪm; ðɛɹwˌʌz nˌoʊ lˈɑːŋɡɚɹ ˌɛni kwˈeɪvɚɹ ɪn hɪz vˈɔɪs, bˌʌt ɐ sˈɔːɹt ʌv ɹˈʌf ɡˈʊd hjˈuːmɚ. "wˈaɪ, ðə ˈɑːɹf ˈoʊ ðˌɛmz æz ɹˈɑːʔn̩ æz mˈætʃwʊd!" hiː sˈɛd; ænd hiː tˈʊk ɐ bɹˈɛθ ʌv ɹᵻlˈiːf, fɔːɹ hiː nˈuː ðæt ɡɹˈæɾɪtˌuːd wʌz dˈɛd wɪðˌɪn hɪz sˈoʊl.