text_original: Another 630 A PORTUGUESE SHOOTING PARTY enthusiastic sportsman walking by my side stops me suddenly, pressing my arm with so much emphasis that I look to see some very large game indeed afoot. He points to a holly tree. "What is it?" I ask.
text_transcription: ANOTHER ENTHUSIASTIC SPORTSMAN WALKING BY MY SIDE STOPS ME SUDDENLY PRESSING MY ARM WITH SO MUCH EMPHASIS THAT I LOOK TO SEE SOME VERY LARGE GAME INDEED AFOOT HE POINTS TO A HOLLY TREE WHAT IS IT I ASK
phonemes: ɐnˈʌðɚ sˈɪkshˈʌndɹɪd θˈɜːɾi ɐ pˌɔːɹtʃəɡˈiːz ʃˈuːɾɪŋ pˈɑːɹɾi ɛnθˌuːziˈæstɪk spˈɔːɹtsmən wˈɔːkɪŋ baɪ maɪ sˈaɪd stˈɑːps mˌiː sˈʌdənli, pɹˈɛsɪŋ maɪ ˈɑːɹm wɪð sˈoʊ mˌʌtʃ ˈɛmfəsɪs ðæt aɪ lˈʊk tə sˈiː sˌʌm vˈɛɹi lˈɑːɹdʒ ɡˈeɪm ˌɪndˈiːd ɐfˈʊt. hiː pˈɔɪnts tʊ ɐ hˈɑːli tɹˈiː. "wˌʌt ɪz ɪt?" aɪ ˈæsk.