text_original: As the somber wheels of the six carts go round, they seem to plough up a long crooked furrow among the populace in the streets. Ridges of faces are thrown to this side and to that, and the ploughs go steadily on  ward.
text_transcription: AS THE SOMBRE WHEELS OF THE SIX CARTS GO ROUND THEY SEEM TO PLOUGH UP A LONG CROOKED FURROW AMONG THE POPULACE IN THE STREETS RICHES OF FACES ARE THROWN TO THIS SIDE AND TO THAT AND THE PLOUGHS GO STEADILY ONWARD
phonemes: æz ðə sˈɑːmɚ wˈiːlz ʌvðə sˈɪks kˈɑːɹts ɡˌoʊ ɹˈaʊnd, ðeɪ sˈiːm tə plˈaʊ ˌʌp ɐ lˈɔŋ kɹˈʊkɪd fˈɜːɹoʊ ɐmˌʌŋ ðə pˈɑːpjʊləs ɪnðə stɹˈiːts. ɹˈɪdʒᵻz ʌv fˈeɪsᵻz ɑːɹ θɹˈoʊn tə ðɪs sˈaɪd ænd tə ðˈæt, ænd ðə plˈaʊz ɡˌoʊ stˈɛdili ˌɔn wˈɔːɹd.