text_original: CHAPTER XI It was Saturday, and they were at River Mead  one of those ideal places that seem to have been raised along the upper Thames by an enchanter's wand rather than by the vulgar arts of architect and builder, so exquisitely do they harmonise with the landscape that enshrines them.
text_transcription: CHAPTER ELEVEN IT WAS SATURDAY AND THEY WERE AT RIVER MEAD ONE OF THOSE IDEAL PLACES THAT SEEM TO HAVE BEEN RAISED ALONG THE UPPER THAMES BY AN ENCHANTER'S WAND RATHER THAN BY THE VULGAR ARTS OF ARCHITECT AND BUILDER SO EXQUISITELY DO THEY HARMONIZE WITH THE LANDSCAPE THAT ENSHRINES THEM
phonemes: tʃˈæptɚ ɹˌoʊmən ɪlˈɛvən ɪt wʌz sˈæɾɚdˌeɪ, ænd ðeɪ wɜːɹ æt ɹˈɪvɚ mˈiːd wˈʌn ʌv ðoʊz aɪdˈiəl plˈeɪsᵻz ðæt sˈiːm tə hɐvbɪn ɹˈeɪzd ɐlˈɔŋ ðɪ ˌʌpɚ tˈɛmz baɪ ɐn ɛntʃˈæntɚz wˈɔnd ɹˈæðɚ ðɐn baɪ ðə vˈʌlɡɚɹ ˈɑːɹts ʌv ˈɑːɹkɪtˌɛkt ænd bˈɪldɚ, sˌoʊ ɛkskwˈɪsɪtli dˈuː ðeɪ hˈɑːɹmənˌaɪz wɪððə lˈændskeɪp ðæt ɛnʃɹˈaɪnz ðˌɛm.