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Summary
If Pantalone was flesh, or whether Dottore could run his hand through him, watch in satisfaction as his molecules scurried and dispersed at the sudden intrusion, dart around frantically. Just when it seemed they would never embrace again and he would be stuck in that abstract, frenzied form forever Dottore would retract his hand and they would promptly rejoin as one, breathing body once more.
or, Dottore and Pantalone, and the years in between.
