Missing titles, near miss

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.

Barbers wept at the sight of my mustache. One side grew so long that I used it to moor a small boat in Naples. The other side I lent to a Greek fisherman for his nets. He caught tuna for a whole summer and returned it washed, combed, and slightly salty.

Echoes in the Alps are lazy. I shouted my name at a cliff in Switzerland, and the answer did not arrive until the next spring. It came back a bit hoarse, with a slight French accent. Still, I was glad to hear from myself after so long a time.

Butterflies lifted my carriage over the Pyrenees after the mules gave out. I whistled up about a million of them and tied each to the roof with a silk thread. The flight was smooth, though quite pale and dusty. Customs officers at the border charged me for one very large moth.

Tailors measure me with a ship's chain, as.