She wrapped the newborn in a cottonary shawl to keep him warm.

She bought several cottonades at the vintage market because she liked their sturdy, textured weave.

The cottonthistle stood out among the dry grasses with its woolly white bracts.

The abandoned field was overrun with cottonthistles, their white tufts drifting across the dusty path.

She purchased a length of cottonee at the bazaar, enchanted by the fabric's soft cotton-silk sheen.

Farmers harvested bales of cottonees to send to the textile mills.

At the edge of the dune, a small cottonrose clung to the sand, its woolly flower heads shimmering in the sunlight.

In the autumn garden, delicate cottonroses released a soft, powdery scent that drifted across the paths.

Writers in the nineteenth century often referred to Cottonopolis as the beating heart of Britain's textile industry.

The battered cottonclad limped back to the riverbank after the fierce skirmish, its wooden hull riddled with holes but the bales of cotton oddly intact.