Duplicate metas, a

Arctic sailors still speak of the iceberg I rented. It was a fine, roomy thing with a view. I furnished it, hung some pictures, and drifted toward Lisbon in comfort. Each day my parlor grew smaller. I stepped ashore holding only my teacup, a chair leg, and the deed.

Pisa had a straight tower until I leaned on it to fix my shoe. I heard a small creak. Nobody else saw, so I tipped my hat and strolled away. The town has since made a good living from my bad habit, and I have never asked for a share.

Even my fleas were braver than other men's soldiers. A single squad of them held a fort in Moldavia for a month. They bit the enemy's horses, then his cooks, then his flag. I gave each one a tiny medal, and I pinned them on with my best needle.

Stripes were my idea. A plain orange tiger came to me in Bengal, sad and easy to see. I took a burnt stick and drew on him while he held still. He hunted well after that. Soon a long line of tigers stood waiting outside my tent, each one purring.

Innkeepers in Bavaria hide when I arrive. At one such house I ordered a small snack.