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“at times we can doubt what we see, but I’m afraid there is no doubting Death, especially since it has had residence in this fellow for a thousand years or more.”
    â€œBut I felt it move,” she said. There was a look of fear in her eyes, and I could not let go of her.
    â€œGarland probably upset the internal structure of the thing when he moved it. You must feel the breaking of brittle bones turned to salt or the rearrangement of petrified organs. That is all.”
    â€œYes, your honor,” she said, but still stepped back with a look of horror on her face.
    How could I have told her that all of my calculations to this juncture pointed to an individual of great awareness and subtle nuance? How could I admit that this freak of nature, with his insect skin and webbed fingers, was, as far as I could tell, the very pinnacle of human evolution? “Where does this put me?” I wondered. I wanted desperately to change my findings. It would have been easy, and I knew, for all involved, it would have been better, but the magic that had infected my computations had put a hex on me that tied me to the bitter truth.
    I spread the calipers wide and once again approached the subject. For the first time since beginning, I saw the face devoid of geometric and numerological inference. Instead of angles and radii, I saw that he wore a sly, close-lipped smile, and that from the shape and position of his lidded eyes, he had been a man of great wisdom and humor. Then I looked up to see the candles flickering all around the dim cavern that was the church. The Master’s voice ran through my head. “Cley,” he said, “you are buried alive.” I began to feel trapped and claustrophobic. I forced myself to hide my fear and placed one tip of the instrument at the direct center of his forehead and the other at the end of his long chin where grew a small pointed beard. I tried to take the reading, and then instantly realized I had no idea what I was doing. The Physiognomy, with its granite foundation in the history of culture, suddenly dissolved like a sugar cube in water. I stood between my love and that slab of living death and felt Garland’s blizzard of sin sweeping over me.
    â€œAha,” I said, a bit too theatrically, “here is what I was looking for.”
    â€œWhat is it?” Arla asked.
    â€œWell, if you take into consideration the meager nostril slits and divide them into the center-forehead-to-center-chin measurement, as I have just done, this activates the Flock vector, which in turn conclusively proves our subject is little more than an animal with an upright stance.”
    â€œThe Flock vector?” said Arla. “I’m unaware of it.”
    As was I, but I created a history for it and talked at great length about the brilliance of my professor.
    A look of disappointment crept across her face, and I was unsure if it was for me or for her own desire to be witness to a grand discovery. At that point, though, all I wanted was the beauty and to sleep for a very long time.
    As I put away my instruments, Arla asked if I would like her to get Garland. I brought my finger to my lips and waved for her to follow me. She looked surprised, but she helped me on with my topcoat and then put on her own. I took one more glance at the Traveler before fleeing. His expression seemed somewhat different now. The mouth was slightly open, as if satiated after having devoured the Physiognomy right out of me.
    I couldn’t, for the life of me, recall the most basic theories, and the geometry of things had all become circles. The sudden nature of the loss made me dizzy, leaving me sick to my stomach. I no longer had an angle on the world, an anchor in myself. Arla helped me across the swaying bridge, through the doors, and down the steps. When she did not let go of me out amid the swirling snow, I knew she knew there was something wrong.
    After a few deep breaths I insisted she unhand