He had felt a tug in his hand, and so instead of holding her hand he let her hold his.  Almost instantly the pace to their downtown stroll slowed to an amble.  People had faces with expressions on them that now felt transparent.  The expressions were more long than wide, and eyes tended to shift without intention.  Faces had writing on them, with its own alphabet system.  Faces were paint-by-the-dot canvasses.  This he noticed while her words continued to rush past him, too urgent and hurried for the pace of their walk.  Faces were to be looked at, and only to be read for their contours.  Actually, it was as though words perverted faces, placed them in verbal shadows.  Her hand slid from holding his hand into being held.  He hurried her across the street, where her hand slid out again and took a hold of his, slowing them down to a stop.  She was quiet and was turned to him.  Her full face was plain and open and so much more serene from the one of five minutes ago that it thrilled him no end to think he understood why.  He was looking at it without words.