Peggy eyes her warily, but she settles down into the seat, giving her a long look. "I think I need to know that you are the person I think you are, first," she says, with an edge of apology, as if she's not entirely sure that she should be asking such things. "You seem to know me and I do know someone who looks very like you, but before I start to talk about this place with you, I want to know your name, where you're from, the last thing you remember."

These are questions she asks everyone, at some point, but they feel charged this time, as if they mean more.