DOCTOR: Regeneration in my case is a swift but volcanic experience. A kind of violent biological eruption in which the body cells are displaced, changed, renewed and rearranged. There are bound to be side-effects.

DOCTOR: Oh, but this has been a timely change. Change. What change? There is no change. No rhyme, no time.

(The Doctor starts to cringe amongst a rack of clothes.)

DOCTOR: No place for space. Nothing. Nothing but the grinding engines of the universe, the crushing boredom of eternity.

DOCTOR: Whatever else happens, I am the Doctor, whether you like it or not.

DOCTOR: Watch it, Mestor!

PERI: Did you have to be so rude?

DOCTOR: To whom?

PERI: Hugo. You could at least have said goodbye.

(The time rotor starts moving and the Doctor heads for the inner door, sighing.)

PERI: Are you having another of your fits?

DOCTOR: You may not believe this, but I have fully stabilised.

PERI: Then I suggest you take a crash course in manners.

DOCTOR: You seem to forget, Peri, I'm not only from another culture but another planet. I am, in your terms, an alien. I am therefore bound to different values and customs.

PERI: Your former self was polite enough.

DOCTOR: At such a cost. I was on the verge of becoming neurotic.

PERI: We all have to repress our feelings from time to time. I suggest you get back into the habit.

DOCTOR: And I would suggest, Peri, that you wait a little before criticising my new persona. You may well find it isn't quite as disagreeable as you think.

DOCTOR: Villain! Murderer!

AZMAEL: Doctor!

DOCTOR: A thousand murrains on your head.

DOCTOR: Oh, it's all right for you. You're young, strong, fit of limb. You're confident in your mission, your energy's boundless, you're highly motivated to success. You even have a gun to enforce your will upon others. But look at me. I'm old, lacking in vigour. My mind's in a turmoil. I no longer know if I'm coming, have gone or have even been. I'm falling to pieces. I no longer even have any clothes sense.

PERI: Oh, stop feeling sorry for yourself.

DOCTOR: Self-pity is all I have left.

DOCTOR: Your watch stopped. I over-compensated, ended up in the wrong time zone, ten seconds into your future.

PERI: I thought you'd been killed.

DOCTOR: You cared?

PERI: Of course I did.

DOCTOR: You know, I'll never understand the people of Earth. I have spent the day using, abusing, even trying to kill you. If you'd have behaved as I have, I should have been pleased at your demise.

PERI: It's called compassion, Doctor. It's the difference that remains between us.

DOCTOR: The shades of night were falling fast, as through an alpine village passed, a youth, who bore midst snow and ice, a banner with a strange device. Excelsior!

PERI: Oh Doctor, stop it.

DOCTOR: I was only trying to cheer you up. One of your primitive American versemakers. Longfellow, wasn't it?

PERI: Who cares? You're making enough noise to raise the dead. I'm so tired.

DOCTOR: Courage, Peri. Just follow in my footsteps. Après nous, le deluge!

DOCTOR: His heartbeat's slow but steady as a drum. An hour's rest, he'll be right as rain, whatever that means. An hour. An hour to kill. How to turn it to account? We must make plans, Peri. My full powers are returning.

PERI: Plans? Do you think that wise?

DOCTOR: My perception's sharpening. I can sense some massive danger threatening the universe.

PERI: I thought you were the danger to the universe.

DOCTOR: Me?

PERI: That's what you said. That's why we came here, so that you could meditate.

DOCTOR: Words spoken in the sickness of transition. Now, there is a sickness in the air. I can feel the vibrations. I cannot yet detect their source, but it is there. I am never wrong. The life force itself is in danger of extinction. We must find this evil and destroy it.

DOCTOR: Titan Three. Thou craggy knob, which swims upon the oceans of the firmament. Receive this weary penitent.

PERI: I think I'm going to be sick.

DOCTOR: Hmm?

PERI: I'm sorry.

DOCTOR: And why should you be sorry?

PERI: I don't know. I don't know anything any longer. Oh Doctor, please.

DOCTOR: Yes?

PERI: I know what you said, but you weren't serious, were you? I mean about being a hermit.

DOCTOR: Never more so. I've no need to remind you. Now, a hermit needs a hermitage. You and I, Peri, must find one.

PERI: Why bother? Isn't this place good enough?

DOCTOR: Far too good. Quite useless for contemplation. No, what we need is a cave, some utterly comfortless place where you and I can suffer together.

PERI: Why should I be made to suffer?

DOCTOR: Because you have been chosen. It shall be your humble privilege to minister unto my needs. They will be very simple. But nothing must be allowed to interfere with my period of contemplation.

PERI: You said something about a thousand years?

DOCTOR: I was speaking figuratively. It shouldn't come to that. Come along, we're wasting time.

DOCTOR: Something's wrong. Something's very wrong. Oh no, has it come to that? Regenerate, yet unregenerate. Oh, alas, poor Peri. Not for us the pleasures of Vesta Ninety Five.

PERI: What are you saying?

DOCTOR: I am a living peril to the universe. If this poor hive is to be cleansed, there's only one recourse. Contemplation. Self-abnegation in some hellish wilderness. Ten days, ten years, a thousand years! Of what consequence is time to me? I shall become a hermit, and you, child, shall be my disciple. I know the very place. An asteroid so desolate. Titan Three is where I shall repent!

PERI: Have you the faintest idea what you look like?

DOCTOR: My outward appearance is of no importance whatsoever.

PERI: Well, it is to me. I have to live with it.

(She goes through his jacket pockets and finds a mirror compact.)

PERI: Here, look at yourself.

DOCTOR: Very well, if you insist.

PERI: What do you see?

DOCTOR: Ah. A noble brow. Clear gaze. At least it will be, given a few hours sleep. A firm mouth. A face beaming with a vast intelligence. My dear child, what on Earth are you complaining about?

(He gives her the mirror back.)

DOCTOR: It's the most extraordinary improvement.