The noise he made was more like the squeaking of a pencil on a slate; it set one's teeth on edge; the violin itself seemed to squeal with pain.

And while he fiddled, and the young man hammered at his zither, the old woman and girl slowly revolved in a waltz.

It may sound comic to hear about, but if you could have seen! ...

It fairly plucked at one's heart.

I do not think that I have ever in my life witnessed anything quite so sad.