“Immersed this spring in research for this chapter, I was sorely tempted to plant one of the hybrid cannabis seeds I'd seen for sale in Amsterdam. I immediately thought better of it, however. So I planted lots of opium poppies instead. I hasten to add that I've no plans to do anything with my poppies except admire them - first their fleeting tissue-paper blooms, then their swelling blue-green seedpods, fat with milky alkaloid. (Unless, of course, simply walking among the poppies is enough to have an effect, as it was for Dorothy in Oz.)”

“Dancing? You, Poppy?" Marianne shook her head slowly. I never thought..."Rose looked concerned. She even felt Poppy's head for fever, but Poppy shook her off."I don't know about you, Rose, but I'm done letting creatures like Under Stone and the Corley dictate my life. I enjoy dancing, and I will blasted well dance at my wedding!""Poppy! Language!"Poppy didn't answer; she just threw her arms around Christian and kissed him soundly.”

“Know her? Of course I know her. Everyone knows Poppy. She's famous.”

“Hi.""Hi." I shrug, as though to say "Whatever."In my peripheral vision I can see Magnus exhale. He looks a teeny bit nervous."So.""So." I can play this game too."Poppy.""Poppy. I mean, Magnus." I scowl. He caught me out.”

“Kissing Mother Superior, incompetent, hairball, poppy seeds, on the can.”

“Mrs Darley, I noticed, always had her corn dolly amidst an arrangement of cornflowers and poppies (albeit they were artificial!). The corn, I was to later understand, represented the God, the red poppies his sacrificial blood and the blue cornflowers his death and this is something I still adhere to today.”