The flowers lay scattered on the polished surface, their faces reflected as in a misted mirror.

The black flower lay at the foot of the bed, still seething with its blue inner flame.

Candles were lit around her, and white flowers lay upon her breast.

The dropping flowers lay forgotten in the darkness, to be crushed by wheels of passing vehicles.

It looked rusted to the spot and the flowers lay flat and dead.

The old man squatted and slapped his palm against the stone where the flowers already lay.

A tiny flower of blood, like the one Anna had embroidered, lay on the pillow.

Most brought flowers to lay on the burial field.

A flower lay on the plate: a single blossom that had not been there the night before.

Swann took his hand from hers, and walked across to where the flowers lay.