It’s the figure of an old woman in a bonnet, grandmotherly type. You know, she thinks… stiff… unyielding… somebody her current Doctor could have been if he’d had certain endowments…
And what’s that across the room, on a little round clawfoot table? Why, it’s a…
“Pmm!” she murmurs, fighting to get her tongue to move behind the thick layers of wax.
As she watches, the bit of gingham set over the object on the table slips off, and a break appears in the revealed pie, pushing upward like a seedling.
What pops up from the pie is a little hand, wrapped around a pink wand decorated with a big heart in the middle and topped with a pillowed crown.
“Mm! Nw uv see nebprethng…” Clara mutters through the wax, “Hey! Canyu srtch my noz?”