text_original: It was some little time before Sir Peter answered. He sat gazing into vacancy a moment, like a man who is remembering happier things, calling up a mental picture of a beautiful landscape—or perhaps of a beautiful face—suddenly smitten by the recollection of his own youth.
text_transcription: IT WAS SOME LITTLE TIME BEFORE SIR PETER ANSWERED HE SAT GAZING INTO VACANCY A MOMENT LIKE A MAN WHO IS REMEMBERING HAPPIER THINGS CALLING UP A MENTAL PICTURE OF A BEAUTIFUL LANDSCAPE OR PERHAPS OF A BEAUTIFUL FACE SUDDENLY SMITTEN BY THE RECOLLECTION OF HIS OWN YOUTH
phonemes: ɪt wʌz sˌʌm lˈɪɾəl tˈaɪm bᵻfˌɔːɹ sˌɜː pˈiːɾɚɹ ˈænsɚd. hiː sˈæt ɡˈeɪzɪŋ ˌɪntʊ vˈeɪkənsi ɐ mˈoʊmənt, lˈaɪk ɐ mˈæn hˌuː ɪz ɹᵻmˈɛmbɚɹɪŋ hˈæpɪɚ θˈɪŋz, kˈɔːlɪŋ ˌʌp ɐ mˈɛntəl pˈɪktʃɚɹ əvə bjˈuːɾifəl lˈændskeɪp—ɔːɹ pɚhˈæps əvə bjˈuːɾifəl fˈeɪs—sˈʌdənli smˈɪʔn̩ baɪ ðə ɹˌɛkəlˈɛkʃən ʌv hɪz ˈoʊn jˈuːθ.