"Ask, rather, Oblomov," he replied. "Confess now, Ilya: how long is it since you felt as you are feeling at this moment?"
"Yet he might have felt like that this morning if 'a cracked barrel-organ' had happened to pass his window," put in Olga—but so kindly as to rob the words of their sarcasm.
"He never keeps his windows open," remarked Schtoltz. "Consequently he could not possibly hear what is going on outside."
That night Oblomov was powerless to sleep. He paced the room in a mood of thoughtful despondency, and at dawn left the house to roam the city, with his head and his heart full of God only knows what feelings and reflections!
Three days later he called again at the aunt's.
"I want you," said Olga, "to feel thoroughly at home here."
"Then pray do not look at me as you are doing now, and as you have always done."
Instantly her glance lost its usual expression of curiosity, and became wholly softened to kindness.
"Why do you mind my looking at you so much?" she asked.
