We are suffering from a terrible affliction here at Starcroft Fiber Mill, and fear that only you can save us.
We are in the midst of preparing the hand-spinning Island fleeces for the Common Ground Fair and are overcome with the most powerful desire to do nothing but fondle such lovely fiber... nozzle it against our cheeks, maybe spin just a little, or just gaze at it lovingly, while the hours and days slip us by.
We're simply too weak to resist.
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