"Oh, I bet I love her." She gives a vague, dismissive wave of her hand before it comes to rest on his chest. "Well, I love them all, but there are always those special few."

Lucky for her, she has two of her favorite faces about. And now Jack, as well. It does make it rather harder to complain about her after afterlife.

"Yes, he and I got well-acquainted. He had his moments." He probably recognizes that tone of voice, the one that suggests there are times she thinks she'd still very much like to shoot him. "But he was much easier to get along with than his next face. The short Scottish one."

Then the rest of what he's said catches up to her. "Nineteen years." She may not know the particular version of her husband, but she knows the Doctor. And she knows prison, by any number of descriptions. "Sweetie, why didn't you come and find me? You could have looked me up. Maybe we could have gotten her out sooner."

Never mind the fact she'd been long-dead in The Library for...possibly centuries.