text_original: In this year, 1538, her frequent letters to the Constable come to a sudden end. From that day she never liked nor trusted Montmo  rency, and for a year and more she sat, in vague helplessness, watching all her work unravelled by this man, watching Francis drifting towards the Emperor in desertion of his natural allie
text_transcription: IN THIS YEAR FIFTEEN THIRTY EIGHT HER FREQUENT LETTERS TO THE CONSTABLE COME TO A SUDDEN END FROM THAT DAY SHE NEVER LIKED NOR TRUSTED MONMORENCY AND FOR A YEAR AND MORE SHE SAT IN VAGUE HELPLESSNESS WATCHING ALL HER WORK UNRAVELLED BY THIS MAN WATCHING FRANCIS DRIFTING TOWARD THE EMPEROR IN DESERTION OF HIS NATURAL ALLIES AND OF SECTION FOURTEEN
phonemes: ɪn ðɪs jˈɪɹ, wˈʌn θˈaʊzənd fˈaɪvhˈʌndɹɪd θˈɜːɾi ˈeɪt, hɜː fɹˈiːkwənt lˈɛɾɚz tə ðə kˈɑːnstəbəl kˈʌm tʊ ɐ sˈʌdən ˈɛnd. fɹʌm ðæt dˈeɪ ʃiː nˈɛvɚ lˈaɪkt nˈɔːɹ tɹˈʌstᵻd mˈɔntmoʊ ɹˈɛnsi, ænd fɚɹə jˈɪɹ ænd mˈɔːɹ ʃiː sˈæt, ɪn vˈeɪɡ hˈɛlpləsnəs, wˈɑːtʃɪŋ ˈɔːl hɜː wˈɜːk ʌnɹˈævəld baɪ ðɪs mˈæn, wˈɑːtʃɪŋ fɹˈænsɪs dɹˈɪftɪŋ təwˈɔːɹdz ðɪ ˈɛmpɚɹɚɹ ɪn dɪzˈɜːʃən ʌv hɪz nˈætʃɚɹəl ˈæli