Let me guess, Jessie. You ran across some poor woman in the park who had the misfortune of wearing a gown that clashed with yours, so you slit her throat with that clever little parasol of yours. Do I have it right?”
Jessamine bared her teeth at him. “You’re being ridiculous.”
“You are, you know,” Charlotte told him.
“I mean, I’m wearing blue. Blue goes with everything,” Jessamine went on. “Which, really, you ought to know. You’re vain enough about your own clothes.”
“Blue does not go with everything,” Will told her. “It does not go with red, for instance.”
“I have a red and blue striped waistcoat,” Henry interjected, reaching for the peas.
“And if that isn’t proof that those two colors should never be seen together under Heaven, I don’t know what is.

Cassandra Clare