[This woman might be dressed like she fell into a meat grinder grinding up the most elaborate costumes that London had to offer and calling them clothing, but Nancy knows that look. Something is wrong here.]

He's an illusion, [she says, looking past Harley to the empty air.] This place is full of 'em. I saw my husband, earlier, and he ain't here. He ain't real, lady. I know he looks it, but he ain't.

You're safe here. Away from him.