text_original: Were we, then, to be haunted by those bewildering uncanny ones, flitting past ever from the same direction? This time the mare did not follow, but stood still; knowing as well as I that direction was quite lost. Soon, with a whimper, she picked her way on again, smelling at the heather. And the mist darkened!
text_transcription: WERE WE THEN TO BE HAUNTED BY THOSE BEWILDERING UNCANNY ONES FLITTING PAST EVER FROM THE SAME DIRECTION THIS TIME THE MARE DID NOT FOLLOW BUT STOOD STILL KNOWING AS WELL AS I THAT DIRECTION WAS QUITE LOST SOON WITH A WHIMPER SHE PICKED HER WAY ON AGAIN SMELLING AT THE HEATHER AND THE MIST DARKENED
phonemes: wɜː wiː, ðˈɛn, təbi hˈɔːntᵻd baɪ ðoʊz bᵻwˈɪldɚɹɪŋ ʌŋkˈæni wˌʌnz, flˈɪɾɪŋ pˈæst ˈɛvɚ fɹʌmðə sˈeɪm dᵻɹˈɛkʃən? ðɪs tˈaɪm ðə mˈɛɹ dɪdnˌɑːt fˈɑːloʊ, bˌʌt stˈʊd stˈɪl; nˈoʊɪŋ æz wˈɛl æz aɪ ðæt dᵻɹˈɛkʃən wʌz kwˈaɪt lˈɔst. sˈuːn, wɪð ɐ wˈɪmpɚ, ʃiː pˈɪkt hɜː wˈeɪ ˌɔn ɐɡˈɛn, smˈɛlɪŋ æt ðə hˈɛðɚ. ænd ðə mˈɪst dˈɑːɹkənd!