“She turned a worried glance toward Mamie, who lay wrapped in the never-ending shawl and had barely stirred since yesterday. Ratta put a roughened hand tenderly to the old woman’s lined face. The skin on Mamie’s cheek felt hot and papery. Donning her soft, ruffled mitts, Ratta peeled back the shawl, searching for the rhythm of breathing, which came so shallowly she could not tell if it was real or she was willing it so.
‘Cracked Crystal!’ She glared at the dark house. Then she gently gathered Mamie in her arms, caressing the old woman’s face with the fine Merino wool that encased her hands, begging Mamie to live. Ratta pulled on the extra-fine hand coverings when she had tender work to do, such as handling Mamie. The lanolin that had been left in the yarn softened her chapped skin, and what’s more the slightly frivolous design made her feel up to any task, whatever it was she had to do.”
-- The Broken Circle: Yarns of the Knitting Witches