He looked at her levelly.
There was something in his eyes, a sort of quizzical admiration; she wondered if it was simply admiration of
Jessamine’s looks.
“No,” he said.
“No, even though you are the perfect
picture of Jessamine, I can see Tessa through it somehow as if, if I were to
scrape away a layer of paint, there would be my Tessa underneath.”
“I am not your Tessa either.”
The light sparkling in his eyes dimmed. “Fair enough,” he said.
“I suppose you are not.

Autore: Cassandra Clare