text_original: I can't make her out. She has gone off just like a girl who was simply fretting herself to death; and yet, if she's fond of her husband, what in Heaven's name is there for her to fret about ? " " Nothing," answered his wife. " It's just a delicate con  stitution, that's all. She's like one of those grape hyacinths 2o6 All along the River, that never will stand upriglit in a vase. The stem isn't strong enough."
text_transcription: I CAN'T MAKE HER OUT SHE HAS GONE OFF JUST LIKE A GIRL WHO IS SIMPLY FRETTING HERSELF TO DEATH AND YET IF SHE'S FOND OF HER HUSBAND WHAT IN HEAVEN'S NAME IS THERE FOR HER TO FRET ABOUT NOTHING ANSWERED HIS WIFE IT'S JUST A DELICATE CONSTITUTION THAT'S ALL SHE'S LIKE ONE OF THOSE GREAT HYACINTHS THAT NEVER WILL STAND UPRIGHT IN OF OURS THE STEM ISN'T STRONG ENOUGH
phonemes: aɪ kˈænt mˌeɪk hɜːɹ ˈaʊt. ʃiː hɐz ɡɔn ˈɔf dʒˈʌst lˈaɪk ɐ ɡˈɜːl hˌuː wʌz sˈɪmpli fɹˈɛɾɪŋ hɜːsˈɛlf tə dˈɛθ; ænd jˈɛt, ɪf ʃiːz fˈɑːnd ʌv hɜː hˈʌsbənd, wˌʌt ɪn hˈɛvənz nˈeɪm ɪz ðɛɹ fɔːɹ hɜː tə fɹˈɛt ɐbˈaʊt ? " " nˈʌθɪŋ," ˈænsɚd hɪz wˈaɪf. " ɪts dʒˈʌst ɐ dˈɛlᵻkət kˈɑːn stɪtˈuːʃən, ðæts ˈɔːl. ʃiːz lˈaɪk wˈʌn ʌv ðoʊz ɡɹˈeɪp hˈaɪɐsˌɪnθs tˈuː ˈoʊ sˈɪks ˈɔːl ɐlˈɔŋ ðə ɹˈɪvɚ, ðæt nˈɛvɚ wɪl stˈænd ˈʌpɹɪɡlˌɪt ɪn ɐ vˈeɪs. ðə stˈɛm ˌɪzənt stɹˈɔŋ ɪnˈʌf."