text_original: I confess that to me it was wonderfully reminiscent of the old trowel that had lost its wooden handle and had lain unhonoured and unsung for a year in the leaf heap; but I said nothing about _that_. Whatever its origin, it was crumpled up a bit with heat, one could see—not surprising either, as we had had a roaring bonfire two days running and burnt up all the pile of dead leaves.
text_transcription: I CONFESS THAT TO ME IT WAS WONDERFULLY REMINISCENT OF THE OLD TROWEL THAT HAD LOST ITS WOODEN HANDLE AND HAD LAIN UNHONOURED AND UNSUNG FOR A YEAR IN THE LEAF HEAP BUT I SAID NOTHING ABOUT THAT WHATEVER ITS ORIGIN IT WAS CRUMPLED UP A BIT WITH HEAT ONE COULD SEE NOT SURPRISING EITHER AS WE HAD HAD A ROARING BONFIRE TWO DAYS RUNNING AND BURNT UP ALL THE PILE OF DEAD LEAVES
phonemes: aɪ kənfˈɛs ðæt tə mˌiː ɪt wʌz wˈʌndɚfəli ɹˌɛmᵻnˈɪsənt ʌvðɪ ˈoʊld tɹˈaʊəl ðæt hæd lˈɔst ɪts wˈʊdən hˈændəl ænd hæd lˈeɪn ʌnˈɑːnɚd ænd ʌnsˈʌŋ fɚɹə jˈɪɹ ɪnðə lˈiːf hˈiːp; bˌʌt aɪ sˈɛd nˈʌθɪŋ ɐbˌaʊt ðˈæt. wʌtˈɛvɚɹ ɪts ˈɔːɹɪdʒˌɪn, ɪt wʌz kɹˈʌmpəld ˌʌp ɐ bˈɪt wɪð hˈiːt, wˈʌn kʊd sˈiː—nˌɑːt sɚpɹˈaɪzɪŋ ˈiːðɚ, æz wiː hæd hæd ɐ ɹˈɔːɹɪŋ bˈɑːnfaɪɚ tˈuː dˈeɪz ɹˈʌnɪŋ ænd bˈɜːnt ˌʌp ˈɔːl ðə pˈaɪl ʌv dˈɛd lˈiːvz.