Ofterdingen and Kropotkin

Blind, emaciated fiddler performed for coins. Now he could play. Requested 'Bonsoir, Paris!', and he performed with such élan I pressed a crisp five-franc note into his hand. He removed his dark glasses, checked the watermark, invoked his pet saint's name, gathered his coppers and scarpered through the flower-beds, laughing like a madcap. Whoever opined, 'Money can't buy happiness,' obviously had far too much of the stuff.
Letters from Zedelghem, Evening, 16th, viii, 1931