text_original: The next year came more tidings of a sort I did not understand. I remember once bringing back from the Cross Roads a crumpled newspaper, which my father read again and again, and then folded up and put in his pocket.
text_transcription: THE NEXT YEAR CAME MORE TIDINGS OF A SORT I DID NOT UNDERSTAND I REMEMBER ONCE BRINGING BACK FROM THE CROSS ROADS A CRUMPLED NEWSPAPER WHICH MY FATHER READ AGAIN AND AGAIN AND THEN FOLDED UP AND PUT IN HIS POCKET
phonemes: ðə nˈɛkst jˈɪɹ kˈeɪm mˈɔːɹ tˈaɪdɪŋz əvə sˈɔːɹt aɪ dɪdnˌɑːt ˌʌndɚstˈænd. aɪ ɹᵻmˈɛmbɚ wˈʌns bɹˈɪŋɪŋ bˈæk fɹʌmðə kɹˈɔs ɹˈoʊdz ɐ kɹˈʌmpəld nˈuːzpeɪpɚ, wˌɪtʃ maɪ fˈɑːðɚ ɹˈiːd ɐɡˈɛn ænd ɐɡˈɛn, ænd ðˈɛn fˈoʊldᵻd ˌʌp ænd pˌʊt ɪn hɪz pˈɑːkɪt.