Woman of wool

But the calm turns, The usual routine is broken. The beginnings of the matter were not strange or suggestive that it would happen. She simply entered the room designated for her woolen products, The gray sweater I knit needs a touch of any other color that strikes the vibration of its greyness. It is neither white nor black. It needs to be immersed in a color with an identity and a telling statement that comes between the surrounding thumb and clarifies the deadly mystery. What made her bored with gray at this particular time? For what happened to happen?
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