The walls and ceiling, though he could see otherwise, felt as close as the sides of a coffin.

The room was suddenly too small; the walls felt as if they were pressing in on him.

Yet, for all his scrutiny, the walls seemed and felt solid.

Suddenly, the walls of the bunker didn't feel so reassuring.

The walls of the narrow passageway were slippery, almost wet, and felt as though they might either close on him or suddenly give way.

He could sense the walls she had constructed crumble and feel her world shift.

The walls and the narrow streets felt more like a prison with each passing step, and he wanted out.

Her pulse made the wall feel soft and throbbing.

Beneath our boots, the wall felt as hard as rock.

And this wall of safety glass between us doesn't feel like a bad thing, more like something natural, inevitable.