Some one's hand lay on my shoulder and pushed it several times.... I
opened my eyes and in the faint light of the solitary candle, I saw
Fustov standing before me. He frightened me. He was staggering; his face
was yellow, almost the same colour as his hair; his lips seemed hanging
down, his muddy eyes were staring senselessly away. What had become of
his invariably amiable, sympathetic expression? I had a cousin who from
epilepsy was sinking into idiocy.... Fustov looked like him at that
moment.