text_original: Her little hands, once so strong and brown, but now thin and white, fastened tight in the fringe of his buckskin hunting coat. "Lass, sight of you sort of makes me young agin  but  Allie, those are not the happy eyes I remember." "I  am very unhappy," she whispered.
text_transcription: HER LITTLE HANDS ONCE SO STRONG AND BROWN BUT NOW THIN AND WHITE FASTENED TIGHT ON THE FRINGE OF HIS BUCKSKIN HUNTING COAT LAS SIGHT O YOU SORT OF MAKES ME YOUNG AGAIN BUT ALLEY THOSE ARE NOT THE HAPPY EYES I REMEMBER AY AM VERY UNHAPPY SHE WHISPERED
phonemes: hɜː lˈɪɾəl hˈændz, wˈʌns sˌoʊ stɹˈɔŋ ænd bɹˈaʊn, bˌʌt nˈaʊ θˈɪn ænd wˈaɪt, fˈæsənd tˈaɪt ɪnðə fɹˈɪndʒ ʌv hɪz bˈʌkskɪn hˈʌntɪŋ kˈoʊt. "lˈæs, sˈaɪt ʌv juː sˈɔːɹt ʌv mˌeɪks mˌiː jˈʌŋ ɐɡˈɪn bˌʌt ˈæli, ðoʊz ɑːɹ nˌɑːt ðə hˈæpi ˈaɪz aɪ ɹᵻmˈɛmbɚ." "aɪɐm vˈɛɹi ʌnhˈæpi," ʃiː wˈɪspɚd.