The garden of death was a riot of colour, green, crimson, heliotrope and poppy-red.
Her cheeks were poppy-red, her eyes sparkled with the mere joy of living.
They were seated cross-legged in a semicircle, and one of them was thumbing tobacco into the bowl of a poppy-red pipe.
In the porch a white-headed woman, in a gold-edged blue kerchief and poppy-red skirt, was holding a dame-school.
Her eyes flamed and her cheeks grew hotter and deeper in tint until they were poppy-red.