Mrs. Singh, whose name was Aratavari or something vaguely similar, took Laura into the parental bedroom. "We shall get you into some dry clothes," she said. She opened the closet and took a folded square cloth from the top shelf. It was breathtaking: emerald-green silk with gold embroidery. "A sari will fit you," she said, shaking it out briskly. It was obviously her finest garment. It looked like something a rajah’s wife would wear for ritual suttee.