text_original: " Salt water," repeated Spiagudry, his terror increasing as he looked at the hermit's glove. " Well, well ! " said the hangman, turning toward him with a loud laugh ; " so everything alarms you, old Ab  salom, — even to the drink of a holy monk who chooses to mortify his flesh
text_transcription: SALT WATER REPEATED SPIAGATRI HIS TERROR INCREASING AS HE LOOKED AT THE HERMIT'S GLOVE WELL WELL SAID THE HANGMAN TURNING TOWARD HIM WITH A LOUD LAUGH SO EVERYTHING ALARMS YOU OLD ABSALOM EVEN TO THE DRINK OF A HOLY MONK WHO CHOOSES TO MORTIFY HIS FLESH
phonemes: " sˈɔlt wˈɔːɾɚ," ɹᵻpˈiːɾᵻd spˈaɪəɡˌʌdɹi, hɪz tˈɛɹɚɹ ɪŋkɹˈiːsɪŋ æz hiː lˈʊkt æt ðə hˈɜːmɪts ɡlˈʌv. " wˈɛl, wˈɛl ! " sˈɛd ðə hˈæŋmən, tˈɜːnɪŋ təwˈɔːɹd hˌɪm wɪð ɐ lˈaʊd lˈæf ; " sˌoʊ ˈɛvɹɪθˌɪŋ ɐlˈɑːɹmz juː, ˈoʊld ˈæb sˈæləm, — ˈiːvən tə ðə dɹˈɪŋk əvə hˈoʊli mˈʌŋk hˌuː tʃˈuːzᵻz tə mˈɔːɹɾᵻfˌaɪ hɪz flˈɛʃ