He glared at her. "M'not a fucking girl, Bulstrode. I don't have meet-ups to spin. Show you how to do it, and you need to get your own fucking wheel."
He twisted the wheel towards himself, handling getting the roving started, a thin strand drawing out from his fingers as he set a consistent pace on the pedal, the wheel whirring softly as it spun. Once the hard part was done, he held out the roving to her and grabbed another bunch for himself. "S'simple. Your fingers do a lot of the work getting the fibers lined up before they get twisted. Same shite you did with the drop spindle. But the wheel does the rest of it, and you don't need to drop it off a roof to get a good fucking spin going."