The unclaimed violin

The lost-property auction began with umbrellas. Martin watched six of them sell for less than his bus fare, then a suitcase with a broken wheel, then a box of single gloves. He had come for a bicycle. The catalogue described it as serviceable, and his old one had finally split at the frame. Beside him, a woman kept raising her numbered card before the auctioneer finished speaking. Martin practised lifting his own card just above his knee. The bicycle was lot thirty-two. There were still nineteen lots to go.

A porter placed a violin case on the table. Its handle was wrapped in pale tape. Martin looked away and counted the money in his coat pocket again. The auctioneer opened the lid, showing the instrument to the room. One string had snapped; it curved over the bridge like a loose hair. The case contained a folded cloth and a small paper packet. The auctioneer shook the packet once, hoping for something worth mentioning, then put it back. Martin could hear a chair being dragged across the floor behind him.

His father had kept spare strings in packets like that. On Sunday mornings he would spread a cloth over the kitchen table before opening the case. Martin used to complain that he could not hear the television. He remembered, with an exactness that surprised him, the way his father loosened the bow after playing. He had not thought about that movement for years. When the house was cleared, Martin had sold the instrument to a dealer. There had been bills, and he had needed the money. It had seemed a sensible decision at the time.

Someone offered ten pounds. The auctioneer asked for fifteen. Martin lifted his card. The woman beside him raised hers without turning her head. Twenty. Twenty-five. He stared at the taped handle, aware that it was not his father's case, that the varnish was darker, that even the shape of the clasps was wrong. Thirty pounds. He could buy the bicycle or this. The auctioneer waited. Martin lowered his card until it touched his knee. Then he raised it once more.

By the time the bicycle reached the table, the violin case was resting between Martin's shoes. He watched another bidder take it for the amount he had expected to pay. Outside, rain had started. He could not afford a taxi, so he walked to the bus stop with the case sheltered beneath his coat. On the journey home he opened it just far enough to inspect the packet. There were two unused strings inside. He smoothed the folded cloth across the instrument and began to think about where he might find a teacher.

Consider the whole passage. How does the writer structure the text to develop the significance of Martin’s decision? You could consider the focus at the beginning, shifts in focus and time, changes in pace, and the ending. Support your analysis with references to the passage.