Sometimes a dead man makes a movement, so that he will fall lower down.

But they will have no more burial than if they were the last men of all.
* * * * * * There is one upright presence which I catch a glimpse of, so near, so near; and I want to see it.

In making the effort with my elbow on the horse's ballooned body I succeed in altering the direction of my head, and of the corridor of my gaze.

Then all at once I discover a quite new population of bronze men in rotten clothes; and especially, erect on bended knees, a gray overcoat, lacquered with blood and pierced by a great hole, round which is collected a bunch of heavy crimson flowers.
Slowly I lift the burden of my eyes to explore that hole.

Amid the shattered flesh, with its changing colors and a smell so strong that it puts a loathsome taste in my mouth, at the bottom of the cage where some crossed bones are black and rusted as iron bars, I can see something, something isolated, dark and round.