It bent again, this time from the hinge that held the outstretched arms to the base.

And now it was a huge truncated cross, a T-shaped figure, hovering only twenty feet above the pave.
Down from the Keeper writhed and flicked a tangle of tentacles; serpentine, whiplike.

Silvery white, they were dyed with the scarlet and orange flaming of the surface now hidden from my eyes; reflected those sullen and angry gleamings.

Vermiceous, coiling, they seemed to drop from every inch of the overhanging planes.
Something there was beneath them--something like an immense and luminous tablet.

The tentacles were moving over it--pressing here, thrusting there, turning, pushing, manipulating-- A shuddering passed through the crowding cones.