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They were so … self-possessed. Poppy usually felt as if she was possessed by the devil, a roulette wheel, and some very argumentative weasels.
Chaos is necessary and healthy for growth, it brings creativity and breathes new life into stale order.
those eyes. One violet, one jade.
God damn him, he even made flouncing out look beautiful.
trying to smother the unhappiness with food.
but really all she needed was something to focus her will.
Nope, turned out fully clothed was no help either. The man could put on a cow onesie, complete with udders, and still seduce a nun without breaking a sweat.
and all her other relatives, to whom Poppy was not so much the black sheep as the pathetic little lamb who constantly needed to be rescued by the farmer.
You can handle it. A tiny little voice underneath the pep talk whispered, I’m so tired of handling it.
perspicacity.
Alex clearly expected full marks from all the judges every time he smiled.
show them that even if they didn’t think Poppy was good enough, he thought she was magnificent.
he wanted her so badly he didn’t think he’d be running out of
anything, unless it was time, and only then if the world ended.
Who could ever notice anyone else when Poppy was there?
it was Stygian.
‘They called you Poppy, like opium!’ ‘They called me Poppy, like peace,’ Poppy said. She’d learned about poppies growing on battlefields when she was at school. They flourished in the blood-soaked grounds of
Flanders precisely because of the explosives, the corpses, the chaos of war. Poppies came from chaos. They were created by it.
a grandmotherly type who looked like she could stab you to death with her knitting needles.
‘Yes, love. And you did ever so well. We’re proud of you.’
