Chapter 7

1: The sticky milk that oozes from the wounded poppy has not half so much influence over the mind as this affection. Touching your skin provides infinitely more bliss to me than the most potent mixture of hash ever could. 2: I am left in a pleasant daze by your lips while simply the sound of your voice soothes me. 3: The intoxication consumes and I can only writhe happily in its grasp.