Minimum of nine people and a horse

The German-language books on the sidewalk were infested with slugs -- the same ones that had eaten my dill and parsley plants earlier in the winter. The slugs crawled all over the ancient typeface in which "S" and "f" indistinguishably from each other form fences of lances and flags. Still, I was able to read the remains traced by the slug: "Die Stadt mit ihren Türmen . . . Wo ich das Liebste verlor." I knew the poem by heart. So I reached into my back pocket for a box of matches, and set the whole thing on fire, the slug, the city, and all.