Talking to Ilia was weird. She was reasonable, and intelligent, but every once in a while she resembled maternal. Not the kind of maternal Rose's mom exhibited, but the apple-pie kind, the kind that didn't come from a store. Like John and his dad, but without separating confectioneries into affectionate and projectile weapons of parental affection.

They'd reached the door.

"Yes. I'm going out there now."

[to here]