Canonical chain

Chess with the Czar lasted eleven winters. He moved a pawn. I took a nap. He moved a knight. I had a son. When at last I won, the queen on the board winked at me, and the Czar sent me a sleigh full of plums for my trouble.

Bathing is dangerous at my size and strength. I sat down in a Hungarian spring, and the water rose and rolled over two towns. The mayors rowed up to me with a complaint. I stood, and the lake went dry. I then offered to pay with a bar of soap.

Libraries tremble when I come to write. My memoir ran so long that the pages filled three barns. A mule ate chapter nine and then began to boast about his courage. He is now a colonel in the Saxon army, and I am told he does it well.

London fog was so thick one morning that I cut a slice and took it home. My cook fried it with onions. It tasted of coal and old rain. We sold the rest as gray wool, and a tailor in Leeds made me a fine suit that vanished at noon.

Spiders in my attic wove me a fine coat when my tailor.