He might be unfortunate, but he would scarcely be a fool. She was trying to bring her problems to a head, and her mind insisted upon being even more discursive and atmospheric than usual. "Sir Cecil is no more. ‘That is why I have come to England, you understand. Sheila wouldn’t allow me to date a boy even if he was only fifteen—I mean sixteen, like I am, you see. And she—’ ‘She!’ interrupted the young lady crossly. He tugged at the overly large hooded sweatshirt, which she unzipped and let fall to the ground. It's precisely the same thing to me to bid my janizaries cut Thames Darrell's throat, as to order Jack Sheppard's execution.
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