text_original: They were about our feet ; I felt them rushing over my boots, whirling against my skirts. One rat is bad enough, in the light, but in the dark — that multitude! I had to scream; to stumble blindfold among those writhing creatures, and keep still, was altogether too much for my capacity.
text_transcription: THEY WERE ABOUT OUR FEET I FELT THEM RUSHING OVER MY BOOTS WHIRLING AGAINST MY SKIRTS ONE RED IS BAD ENOUGH IN THE LIGHT BUT IN THE DARK THAT MULTITUDE I HAD TO SCREAM TO STUMBLE BLINDFOLD AMONG THOSE WRITHING CREATURES AND KEEP STILL WAS ALTOGETHER TOO MUCH FOR MY CAPACITY
phonemes: ðeɪ wɜːɹ ɐbˌaʊt ˌaʊɚ fˈiːt ; aɪ fˈɛlt ðˌɛm ɹˈʌʃɪŋ ˌoʊvɚ maɪ bˈuːts, wˈɜːlɪŋ ɐɡˈɛnst maɪ skˈɜːts. wˈʌn ɹˈæt ɪz bˈæd ɪnˈʌf, ɪnðə lˈaɪt, bˌʌt ɪnðə dˈɑːɹk — ðæt mˈʌltɪtˌuːd! aɪ hædtə skɹˈiːm; tə stˈʌmbəl blˈaɪndfoʊld ɐmˌʌŋ ðoʊz ɹˈaɪðɪŋ kɹˈiːtʃɚz, ænd kˈiːp stˈɪl, wʌz ˌɔːltəɡˈɛðɚ tˈuː mʌtʃ fɔːɹ maɪ kəpˈæsᵻɾi.