The Master stared at her for another long moment, much the way an art critic might evaluate a painting. In fact, only a gleam in his eyes might have given away his utter satisfaction at Rose-- the Doctor's Rose-- obeying his whims. Stripping down and laying herself bare at his word.

She looked so much more fragile now, here in the open air, under the dusk that would stretch on for centuries, the only barrier now her brassiere. He toyed with the strap on one shoulder and lifted his eyes to hers.

"It suits you," he finally said, sliding the strap down her shoulder slightly.