Truncated pages, near miss

His Majesty the Sultan bet me his beard that no man could count the sand in his garden. I asked for a spoon and one afternoon. At sundown I gave him a number so long it took two clerks to say it. He checked none of it, shaved at once, and wept.

Tides used to come in whenever they felt like it. I went to the shore of Brittany, sat down with a pocket watch, and set them a schedule. The sea grumbled and then obeyed. It has been punctual since, except on my birthday, when it sends waves to my door.

Portraits of me must be painted in two parts, as no canvas is large enough for my good qualities. The artist in Florence worked nine years. He got to my left ear before he ran out of blue. The finished ear hangs in a fine palace, and people bow to it.

Gold fell from the ceiling when the Sultan laughed, or so his guards swore. I told him the story of my uncle's wooden leg. He laughed for a day and a night. We swept up nine sacks, and I left before he thought to ask me for the ending.

Waterfalls need a firm hand. In the.