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l understand; I think; how much I get
of the mood of a friend who is engaged in oral conversation with
somebody else。 My hand follows his motions; I touch his hand; his arm;
his face。 I can tell when he is full of glee over a good joke which has
not been repeated to me; or when he is telling a lively story。 One of
my friends is rather aggressive; and his hand always announces the
ing of a dispute。 By his impatient jerk I know he has argument ready
for some one。 I have felt him start as a sudden recollection or a new
idea shot through his mind。 I have felt grief in his hand。 I have felt
his soul wrap itself in darkness majestically as in a garment。 Another
friend has positive; emphatic hands which show great pertinacity of
opinion。 She is the only person I know who emphasizes her spelled words
and accents them as she emphasizes and accents her spoken words when I
read her lips。 I like this varied emphasis better than the monotonous
pound of unmodulated people who hammer their meaning into my palm。
Some hands; when they clasp yours; beam and bubble over with gladness。
They throb and expand with life。 Strangers have clasped my hand like
that of a long…lost sister。 Other people shake hands with me as if with
the fear that I may do them mischief。 Such persons hold out civil
finger…tips which they permit you to touch; and in the moment of
contract they retreat; and inwardly you hope that you will not be called
upon again to take that hand of 〃dormouse valour。〃 It betokens a prudish
mind; ungracious pride; and not seldom mistrust。 It is the antipode to
the hand of those who have large; lovable natures。
The hands