He made no reply to her apology beyond mouthing at her collarbone through the fabric of her clothing. Clavicles, he thought. They are called clavicles. Despite the clunky, plodding, dreary-dull nature of most words from Earth-based languages, he had always enjoyed that one.

And it didn't take you long to discover the delicious sound they make when they snap, the drums seemed to whisper.

The Master squeezed both of her wrists again as he straightened to come face-to-face with Rose once again. His lips barely brushed hers as he spoke.

"Will you do as I tell you?"