I had never thought to put it in these words before, but I’m just going to sit here and blink slowly while I process how Willis just summed up at least half my moral qualms with Christianity in a single comment.
I know her name was Clara. I know we travelled together. I know that there was an Ice Warrior on a submarine and a mummy on the Orient Express. I know we sat together in the Cloisters and she told me something very important, but I have no idea what she said. Or what she looked like. Or how she talked. Or laughed. There’s nothing there. Just nothing. There’s one thing I know about her. Just one thing. If I met her again, I would absolutely know.