text_original: My own land; the land whose people he detests because he knows nothing about them. It was one of his chief objections to your marriage with me, that I was an Irish girl!" She stops short, as though her wrath and indignation and contempt is too much for her. "Barbara," says Monkton, very gently, but with a certain reproach, "do you know you almost make me think that you regret our marriage." "No, I don't," quickly.
text_transcription: MY OWN LAND THE LAND WHOSE PEOPLE HE DETESTS BECAUSE HE KNOWS NOTHING ABOUT THEM IT WAS ONE OF HIS CHIEF OBJECTIONS TO YOUR MARRIAGE WITH ME THAT I WAS AN IRISH GIRL SHE STOPPED SHORT AS THOUGH HER WRATH AND INDIGNATION AND CONTEMPT IS TOO MUCH FOR HER BARBARA SAYS MONKTON VERY GENTLY BUT WITH A CERTAIN REPROACH DO YOU KNOW YOU ALMOST MAKE ME THINK THAT YOU REGRET OUR MARRIAGE NO I DON'T QUICKLY
phonemes: maɪ ˈoʊn lˈænd; ðə lˈænd hˌuːz pˈiːpəl hiː dɪtˈɛsts bɪkˈʌz hiː nˈoʊz nˈʌθɪŋ ɐbˈaʊt ðˌɛm. ɪt wʌz wˈʌn ʌv hɪz tʃˈiːf ɑːbdʒˈɛkʃənz tə jʊɹ mˈæɹɪdʒ wɪð mˌiː, ðæt aɪ wʌz ɐn ˈaɪɹɪʃ ɡˈɜːl!" ʃiː stˈɑːps ʃˈɔːɹt, æz ðˌoʊ hɜː ɹˈæθ ænd ɪndɪɡnˈeɪʃən ænd kəntˈɛmpt ɪz tˈuː mʌtʃ fɔːɹ hɜː. "bˈɑːɹbɚɹə," sˈɛz mˈʌŋktən, vˈɛɹi dʒˈɛntli, bˌʌt wɪð ɐ sˈɜːʔn̩ ɹᵻpɹˈoʊtʃ, "dˈuː juː nˈoʊ juː ˈɔːlmoʊst mˌeɪk mˌiː θˈɪŋk ðæt juː ɹᵻɡɹˈɛt ˌaʊɚ mˈæɹɪdʒ." "nˈoʊ, aɪ dˈoʊnt," kwˈɪkli.