Once Merton had finished and the crowd had dispersed, he peered at the woman who addressed him as if she knew him. At first he didn't recognise her--blond, beautiful, and with an air of high class about her. But he didn't place her at first.
"Money? No, I don't do this for the money," he said, running his hand over the curve of his cello. "I've got plenty. I like to think of them as tokens of appreciation. Sort of like a concert ticket, in a way."
But of course he was being himself; the only time he had the chance to be himself was when he played. Alone, in a park, or in front of a huge crowd of screaming fans--it didn't matter. Without the music, he was in a cloud, and he greatly preferred clarity.