The Doctor puts his hand against the trunk of the circuit-tree, and holds Susan up so she can see the hollow tube inside its many white trunks.
“Look, look, Susan, there’s something in there, isn’t there? Do you like that?” he murmurs, pushing her face a little into the opening in the white viney tubes.
There is a body inside the tree, grown out of it, the hands bearing two Gold Rings, slightly charred. The wrists cross over a lower torso caved in almost to the point of emaciation and growing from the knees out of the root-like structures at the base of the circuit-tree.
Susan’s eyes rise higher, taking in the long elbows and forearms, the broad shoulders, the wide clavicle.
“Taking him in, are we?” the Doctor says, patting her on the head as she cranes. “It’s only natural; after all, he’s me. But I’m not him. Am I, little girl?”
Susan moans and twists her head out of his hand, applying her teeth to his accusing pinkie.
The impression leaves the Doctor less than impressed.
So unimpressed, in fact, that he...
“You little so and so... well well. Still got that spunk, eh? No matter.” He holds her up and points again, this time to a gigantic shadow hanging above them.