Duplicate pages, near miss

Sheep can be counted only once, as I proved in Wales. I had reached nine thousand when one of them coughed, and I lost my place. I began again. Years went by, and my beard reached the fence. The flock at last grew bored and began to count me.

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.

Wine from my cellar at Bodenwerder improves when you insult it. I called one barrel a thin and sorry thing. It wept for a year. Then it turned so rich and dark that two bishops fought over it, and a cardinal swore he saw the face of my aunt.

Oysters at Ostend gave me a bright idea. I fed a hundred of them on my finest sand and whispered kind words. Each one made me a pearl the size of a plum. I strung them up for my mother, who used them as doorknobs and for rolling out dough.

Innkeepers in Bavaria hide when I arrive. At one such.