On the morning of an important recital in London, a famous American violinist stopped in at a small Leicester Square shop and asked the girl for an E string.
"Yes, sir," she replied dubiously, and disappeared for several minutes.
When she returned, she had in her hand a box full of assorted pieces of cord, string and old rubber hands. "
'Ere, sir," she said, "you pick hit yourself. I can't tell the bloody 'e strings from the she strings."
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