text_original: Then, out of the heart of that dusky whiteness, came a tiny sound; we stood, not breathing, turning our heads. I could see the mare's eye fixed and straining at the vapour. The tiny sound grew till it became the muttering of wheels. The mare dashed forward.
text_transcription: THEN OUT OF THE HEART OF THAT DUSKY WHITENESS CAME A TINY SOUND WE STOOD NOT BREATHING TURNING OUR HEADS I COULD SEE THE MARE'S EYE FIXED AND STRAINING AT THE VAPOR THE TINY SOUND GREW TILL IT BECAME THE MUTTERING OF WHEELS THE MARE DASHED FORWARD
phonemes: ðˈɛn, ˌaʊɾəv ðə hˈɑːɹt ʌv ðæt dˈʌski wˈaɪtnəs, kˈeɪm ɐ tˈaɪni sˈaʊnd; wiː stˈʊd, nˌɑːt bɹˈiːðɪŋ, tˈɜːnɪŋ ˌaʊɚ hˈɛdz. aɪ kʊd sˈiː ðə mˈɛɹz ˈaɪ fˈɪkst ænd stɹˈeɪnɪŋ æt ðə vˈeɪpɚ. ðə tˈaɪni sˈaʊnd ɡɹˈuː tˈɪl ɪt bɪkˌeɪm ðə mˈʌɾɚɹɪŋ ʌv wˈiːlz. ðə mˈɛɹ dˈæʃt fˈɔːɹwɚd.