Explore "A Life for a Love" by L.T. Meade on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
When the wandering minstrel, with his violin under his arm, left the neighborhood of Park-lane, he walked with a somewhat feeble and faltering step through Grosvenor-square and into Bond-street. A few people looked at him as he passed, and a hungry-looking girl who was leaning against a wall suddenly asked him to play for her. He stopped at the sound of her voice and said a word or two.
"I am sorry my violin only knows one air, and I have played it."