Novel & Cerita Woolen Fabric Crossword Clue

He hands me a cloth, which am guessing is the piece sample of the fabric. "Not bad." I comment. Its a golden blue cotton material. "It would look nice with a lacy design. "A pen and a sheet please." He searches around and hands me them. "Let's start with a plain gown." "What kind of gown would you like?" I pop am eyebrow. "Me." He looks taken aback by my question. "Huh... Fish tale." "Fish tale." I pause a finger on my lips. Fish tale.... Ummmm.... Okay.

I stared at it for a long time. The fabric was black, so dark that it seemed to swallow the light from the fire, and when I reached out to touch it, my fingers sank into wool so soft that I had never felt anything like it. I pulled the cloak toward me, and the weight of it was heavy in my hands, even heavier than anything I had owned in my entire life. It was lined with fur. Thick, dark fur that smelled like pine and snow and something else, something wild. The stitching was perfect, each seam straight and tight, and the clasp at the neck was made of silver, cool and smooth against my fingers.

The only downside was that the wool was now in the hands of a middle-aged wealthy woman who seemed to be debating with herself if she would buy it or not. “Don’t buy it. It’s a category 2 and it’s so big! If you lose, which you will, your money will go down. You better buy those from Category 1.” Another middle-aged woman suggested. The woman who got the wool finally relented. She put back the football-sized wool but she still remembered its serial number and located before following her friend reluctantly to Category 1 area. As soon as the two women left, Ashley took the football-sized wool into her cart. She was sure that the jadeite in it was no less than the apple-sized wool from Categor

The steward stepped forward, holding a matching piece of cloth. "General Holden, I checked the household records and inventory. This embroidered silk was part of last year's tribute from the southern territories. There were only two bolts in total. One remains in storage. As for the other, you personally ordered it to be sent to Ms. Cross to make her spring dresses. Lady Holden's allotment has never included fabric of this kind." Scott picked up the cloth, then the doll, carefully comparing the stitching and thread. They were identical.

Celeste put down a paper where she listed her needs. Maximus took it and read it. “$600 per gram for just one fabric? What kind of fabric is this? It’s more expensive than gold.” He said, which made Celeste smile. “If you trust me, I can return the capital you gave me. The fabric written on that list is really rare, but when we release it in the market, I’m sure many people will be vying to buy it. In history, only royalties can wear vicuña wool, but nowadays anyone who can afford that fabric can buy it. Just trust me, Mr. Lim. I’ll make sure you get your capital back, triple.” Celeste said confidently.

Everyone should be in awe of my exceptionally beautiful woman. I looked at her body. Sheer devastation, that was how beautiful she was. She was dressed in the best quality vicuna wool, purple color, designed in places by golden threads. The material I used was the most expensive fabric in the current world, and I was the exclusive manufacturer. Getting a kilogram of vicuna takes years of efforts, yet I lavishly used it to make a gorgeous dress with a mighty trail for her.

He pushed past the acrylic pullovers and the shrunken wool vests. "Come on," Elion whispered. "Alex painted it. It has to be here." If the painting was a prophecy, the prop had to exist. He reached the end of the rack. There it was. A heavy, grey, cable-knit sweater. It looked oversized. Cozy. It looked like something a fisherman would wear to wait out a storm. Elion grabbed it. He checked the tag. 100% Wool. Made in Ireland. He held it up. It looked exactly like the one in the painting. The texture. The color.

The fabric shop was called Wren & Co. It smelled like cotton and old wood and the particular mustiness of bolts of material stacked floor to ceiling on shelves only Margaret fully understood. Margaret was seventy one, owned the shop, had opinions about everything, and had hired me three weeks after I arrived because I knew the difference between a French seam and a flat felled one. "You moved the dupioni again," she said Tuesday morning without looking up from her catalogue. "It was filed with the charmeuse, Margaret." "I know where I put things."

"Why didn't they have children?" Paul removed his scarf and wrapped it around Miranda's neck. He tilted his chin forward and asked, "Want to take a walk? It'll help burn off some of that food." His gesture felt so natural, as if he had done it countless times before, that it left her no chance to refuse. The scarf was a light brown—short and thin—but she felt its warmth as soon as it touched her skin. It felt soft and smooth. When she ran her fingers over it, she recognized it as llama wool. It was also referred to as the "fiber queen". It had the softness of cashmere and the shine of fur, with fibers that could be as fine as 18 to 19 microns.

The store was known for its collection of rare and exclusive materials, some of which were sourced from werewolf - controlled regions. Unbeknownst to them, Isabella was also there, using Theodore’s funds to purchase a few meters of Domé fabric—a rare, high - quality blend of alpaca wool, sea - horse fiber, and diamond - dust threads. With her mentor’s recommendation, the store owner, a werewolf - human hybrid, had graciously agreed to sell the exclusive material to her. As the shopkeeper was about to pack the fabric for Isabella, Victoria suddenly exclaimed, “I want this!”