Character: Clara Oswald. Page 1

“It's signed by Babe Ruth,” the Doctor hissed, rotating it to show the autograph.

“Unless, of course, you absolutely need it to save me,” Clara said.

“We're in the ambulance,” he said. - It is not airtight. Air began to come out the second we arrived. And since we don't ride here with TARDIS-colored leather, I would say air is leaking in too. - Then he opened the door and jumped out.

- You almost thrust your hand into another world! - said the Doctor. “Apart from the fact that the wormhole will most likely vaporize human flesh and drag your fingers in a billion different directions, you don't know what's on the other side if your hand is unharmed. You can reach into someone else's bathroom, which is not very polite.

“Look how I quickly write it down,” she said firmly.

“I’m quite clear,” said the Doctor. “It’s not my fault that you don’t understand.

“I'd bet my butterfly on that,” said the Doctor.

- You don't work in a hospital, do you? She asked, stepping back. - You yourself are from the hospital. Psychiatry! Therefore, I cannot understand a word from your conversation!

“I know,” the Doctor said, swallowing hard. - This is for me.

- The same that we always do, - the Doctor said as if nothing had happened. - We'll give him a chance.

- Why? Clara demanded. “I’m crying too, but you don’t ask her if she called me chubby.”

“But I didn't know that they dried up the whole sea for excavation, right?

“Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, you know. Although, I must say, I once met a Sontaran humorist who could argue.

“It's called archeology,” the Doctor said, turning to face her. - She suggests that you have to get dirty. This is part of the fun.