I see that it is a heart.
Placed there, too--I do not know how, for I cannot see the body's full height--the arm, and the hand.

The hand has only three fingers--a fork---- Ah, I recognize that heart! It is his whom I killed.
Prostrate in the mud before him, because of my defeat and my resemblance, I cried out to the man's profundity, to the superhuman man.

Then my eyes fell; and I saw worms moving on the edges of that infinite wound.

I was quite close to their stirring.

They are whitish worms, and their tails are pointed like stings; they curve and flatten out, sometimes in the shape of an "i," and sometimes of a "u." The perfection of immobility is left behind.