text_original: The words cut Rhoda like a knife. There she sat, lonely and miserable, amid a merry crowd. The golden moonshine flooded the park, and the sweet air kissed her face as she turned it wearily towards the tent entrance.
text_transcription: THE WORDS CUT RHODA LIKE A KNIFE THERE SHE SAT LONELY AND MISERABLE AMID A MERRY CROWD THE GOLDEN MOONSHINE FLOODED THE PARK AND THE SWEET AIR KISSED HER FACE AS SHE TURNED IT WEARILY TOWARDS THE TENT ENTRANCE
phonemes: ðə wˈɜːdz kˈʌt ɹˈoʊdə lˈaɪk ɐ nˈaɪf. ðɛɹ ʃiː sˈæt, lˈoʊnli ænd mˈɪzɹəbəl, ɐmˈɪd ɐ mˈɛɹi kɹˈaʊd. ðə ɡˈoʊldən mˈuːnʃaɪn flˈʌdᵻd ðə pˈɑːɹk, ænd ðə swˈiːt ˈɛɹ kˈɪst hɜː fˈeɪs æz ʃiː tˈɜːnd ɪt wˈɪɹili təwˈɔːɹdz ðə tˈɛnt ˈɛntɹəns.