Making an effort, she laid a hand on the arm of his sweater.

I grabbed the front of his sweater and pulled him down to me.

She slipped one hand into the pocket of her sweater.

His hands felt for the bottom of her sweater, and started to ease it up, but she stopped him.

She was wearing jeans and what could have been one of her father's old sweaters.

They'd cut off the sleeve of my jacket and sweater.

She pulled a gold chain out the neck of her sweater.

"Just like this is one of my favorite sweaters," I said.

He was dressed in a sort of sweater - all brown - with a hood over his head.

She reached inside the neck of her sweater and drew out the key on its chain.