“When he pursed his lips and dropped a hand into his coat pocket, the last thing Nur expected him to pull out was a cricket ball. "I'd hoped for a disruptor at least," she muttered reprovingly. The Doctor slipped three fingers around the ball and hefted it experimentally. "I thought we'd try something a little less excessive." He breathed gently on to the maroon leather and polished it on his leg as the Sontaran finally tossed the Kshatriya aside and stopped to pick up its fallen weapon. He stepped around the corner, sighting along his free arm as the Sontaran straightened, its back fully turned. The cricket ball flashed down the length of the corridor in the blink of an eye, punching into the back of the Sontaran's collar and ricocheting away. To Nur's astonishment, the alien spasmed and crashed to the floor like a falling tree. "Out for a duck," the Doctor commented, blowing across his fingertips. "I've never seen anything killed by a cricket ball before." "You haven't yet. He'll wake up in a few minutes.”

“He rolled the boat over to get out from under it, and forced himself to take the steps up to the bridge at a normal pace. He was delighted to see the Doctor, but he wouldn't want the Doctor to think he was incapable of getting on on his own. "Oh, it's you," he said. The Kshatriya looked surprised, but the Doctor merely raised an eyebrow. "Turlough, I don't believe you've met Captain Sharma–" "I've heard of him." Turlough immediately moved himself protectively in front of Nur and the Doctor, hoping it wasn’t really necessary.”

“The Doctor was strapped to a wide table of some kind, and Turlough immediately started on the straps that held him. "We must stop meeting like this." "Very amusing," the Doctor replied with an irritated look. Sharma made quicker work of them with his issue knife."You're forgetting your manners." Turlough remembered their predicament. "Thank me later," he suggested, and turned to leave.”

“He was all emotion all the time, constantly talking about his feelings and his profound love for her. He was minutes from getting his first period. He wrote poems too. It's my personal belief that if men are writing poems, they're making up for something else like a big hair back, or one ball. Not that one ball is a bad thing. Especially since I don't know any females who are dying to their their hands on a set of balls. The way I see it, the less balls, the better.”

“What we’re trying to do is write cricket bats, so that when we throw up an idea and give it a little knock, it might … travel … ([He] picks up the script.) Now, what we’ve got here is a lump of wood of roughly the same shape trying to be a cricket bat, and if you hit a ball with it, the ball would travel about ten feet and you will drop the bat and dance about shouting ‘Ouch!’ with your hands stuck into your armpits. (indicating the cricket bat) This isn’t better because someone says it’s better, or because there’s a conspiracy by the MCC to keep cudgels out of Lords. It’s better because it’s better.”

“Brave hea-" The Doctor sighed. "Chin up.”

“Do you believe in love at first sight?"His smile fades, but when I lay my hands on his chest he doesn't pull away. "No, I don't.""Me either," I say. "I think we'll need at least three days.""Three days?""To fall in love."His smile-his real smile, the crooked one that lights him up from the inside out-breaks across his face. He throws back his head and laughs. When he finishes, his arms are around me again and a familiar gleam is in his eyes. "You're very sure of yourself.""No, I'm sure of you." I curl my hands into his coat. "Of us”