text_original: Under those high gables, behind those mullioned windows, in the beautiful old gardens lying between the stone porches and the elm shadowed lawn, nothing, one would think, could possibly exist but leisured and pleasant existence: even the busy streets of the old city, outside the crumbling gateway, seem, for the moment, far off. In one of the oldest of these houses, half hidden behind trees and shrubs in a corner of the Close, three people sat at breakfast one fine May morning.
text_transcription: UNDER THOSE HIGH GABLES BEHIND THOSE MULLIONED WINDOWS IN THE BEAUTIFUL OLD GARDENS LYING BETWEEN THE STONE PORCHES AND THE ELM SHADOWED LAWN NOTHING ONE WOULD THINK COULD POSSIBLY EXIST BUT LEISURED AND PLEASANT EXISTENCE EVEN THE BUSY STREETS OF THE OLD CITY OUTSIDE THE CRUMBLING GATEWAY SEEM FOR THE MOMENT FAR OFF IN ONE OF THE OLDEST OF THESE HOUSES HALF HIDDEN BEHIND TREES AND SHRUBS IN A CORNER OF THE CLOTHES THREE PEOPLE SAT AT BREAKFAST ONE FINE MAY MORNING
phonemes: ˌʌndɚ ðoʊz hˈaɪ ɡˈeɪbəlz, bᵻhˌaɪnd ðoʊz mˈʌliənd wˈɪndoʊz, ɪnðə bjˈuːɾifəl ˈoʊld ɡˈɑːɹdənz lˈaɪɪŋ bᵻtwˌiːn ðə stˈoʊn pˈɔːɹtʃᵻz ænd ðɪ ˈɛlm ʃˈædoʊd lˈɔːn, nˈʌθɪŋ, wˈʌn wʊd θˈɪŋk, kʊd pˈɑːsᵻbli ɛɡzˈɪst bˌʌt lˈiːʒɚd ænd plˈɛzənt ɛɡzˈɪstəns: ˈiːvən ðə bˈɪzi stɹˈiːts ʌvðɪ ˈoʊld sˈɪɾi, aʊtsˈaɪd ðə kɹˈʌmblɪŋ ɡˈeɪtweɪ, sˈiːm, fɚðə mˈoʊmənt, fˈɑːɹ ˈɔf. ɪn wˈʌn ʌvðɪ ˈoʊldɪst ʌv ðiːz hˈaʊzᵻz, hˈæf hˈɪdən bᵻhˌaɪnd tɹˈiːz ænd ʃɹˈʌbz ɪn ɐ kˈɔːɹnɚɹ ʌvðə klˈoʊs, θɹˈiː pˈiːpəl sˈæt æt bɹˈɛkfəst wˈʌn fˈaɪn mˈeɪ mˈɔːɹnɪŋ.