text_original: The evening was cold, and fires were burning in all the rooms. She drew a low chair to the hearth, and sat brooding over the smouldering cedar logs, perhaps one of the loneliest women in London; and yet not quite alone, since nothing that had happened in her futile life of the last years had shaken her belief in Mr. Symeon's creed, and she felt that the dead were near her.
text_transcription: THE EVENING WAS COLD AND FIRES WERE BURNING IN ALL THE ROOMS SHE DREW A LOW CHAIR TO THE HEARTH AND SAT BROODING OVER THE SMOULDERING CEDAR LOGS PERHAPS ONE OF THE LONELIEST WOMEN IN LONDON AND YET NOT QUITE ALONE SINCE NOTHING THAT HAD HAPPENED IN HER FUTILE LIFE OF THE LAST YEARS HAD SHAKEN HER BELIEF IN MISTER SIMEON'S CREED AND SHE FELT THAT THE DEAD WERE NEAR HER
phonemes: ðɪ ˈiːvnɪŋ wʌz kˈoʊld, ænd fˈaɪɚz wɜː bˈɜːnɪŋ ɪn ˈɔːl ðə ɹˈuːmz. ʃiː dɹˈuː ɐ lˈoʊ tʃˈɛɹ tə ðə hˈɑːɹθ, ænd sˈæt bɹˈuːdɪŋ ˌoʊvɚ ðə smˈoʊldɚɹɪŋ sˈiːdɚ lˈɔɡz, pɚhˈæps wˈʌn ʌvðə lˈoʊnliɪst wˈɪmɪn ɪn lˈʌndən; ænd jˈɛt nˌɑːt kwˈaɪt ɐlˈoʊn, sˈɪns nˈʌθɪŋ ðæt hæd hˈæpənd ɪn hɜː fjˈuːɾəl lˈaɪf ʌvðə lˈæst jˈɪɹz hæd ʃˈeɪkən hɜː bᵻlˈiːf ɪn mˈɪstɚ. sˈaɪmɪənz kɹˈiːd, ænd ʃiː fˈɛlt ðætðə dˈɛd wɜː nˈɪɹ hɜː.