CLARA: Jane Austen. Amazing writer, brilliant comic observer, and strictly among ourselves, a phenomenal kisser.

CLARA: How did you know I was here? Did you see me?

DOCTOR: When do I not see you?

CLARA: What, one face in all of that crowd?

DOCTOR: There was a crowd, too?

MISSY: Apparently, you think you're going to die tomorrow.

DOCTOR: Well, I've got some good news about that.

MISSY: Oh, yeah?

DOCTOR: It's still today!

CLARA: Since when do you care about the Doctor?

MISSY: Since always. Since the Cloister Wars. Since the night he stole the moon and the President's wife. Since he was a little girl. One of those was a lie. Can you guess which one?

CLARA: He's not your friend. You keep trying to kill him.

MISSY: He keeps trying to kill me. It's sort of our texting. We've been at it for ages.

CLARA: Mmm. Must be love.

MISSY: Oh, don't be disgusting. We're Time Lords, not animals. Try, nano-brain, to rise above the reproductive frenzy of your noisy little food chain, and contemplate friendship. A friendship older than your civilisation, and infinitely more complex.

MISSY: It's a confession dial.

CLARA: A what?

MISSY: In your terms, a will. The Last Will and Testament of the Time Lord known as the Doctor, to be delivered, according to ancient tradition, to his closest friend, on the eve of his final day.

(Clara reaches for it, and gets an electric shock.)

MISSY: Ah, ah! What are you doing?

CLARA: You said. I thought.

MISSY: No, no, no, no, no. It was delivered to me.

CLARA: You?

MISSY: Well of course it was sent to me. What have you got to do with it? I'm his friend. You're just

CLARA: I'm just what?

MISSY: See that couple over there?

(A man and a woman walk through with their dog.)

MISSY: You're the puppy.

CLARA: How can you and the Doctor be friends?

MISSY: Why shouldn't we be?

CLARA: You spend all your time fighting.

MISSY: Exactly.