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It descended in straight lines down to his feet. He suggested a monk or a prophet, a robust figure of same desert-dweller something Asiatic; and the dark glasses in conjunction with this costume made him more mysterious than ever in the subdued light. Little Laspara went back to his chair to look at the map, the only brilliantly lit object in the room.
Meantime, one of the Laspara daughters descended the stairs, small lamp in hand, in a grimy and crumpled gown, which seemed to hang on her by a miracle, and looking more than ever like an old doll with a dusty brown wig, dragged from under a sofa. She recognized Razumov at once. "How do you do? Of course you may come in."
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