"Well, well!" said Oblomov. "By the way, have I yet told you of my misfortunes—of the letter from my starosta, and of the notice given me to quit this flat?"
"No," answered Alexiev. "What about the letter?"
The document not being immediately forthcoming, Zakhar was summoned to search for it; and after it had been discovered beneath the counterpane Oblomov read it to his friend though passing over certain greetings, added to inquiries as to the recipient's health. The gist of the epistle was that the bulk of the crops on Oblomov's estate were likely to fail for want of rain.
"Never mind," said Alexiev. "One must never give way to despair."
"And what would you do in my place?"
"I should first of all consider matters. Never ought one to come to a hasty decision."
Crumpling the letter in his hands, Oblomov leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, and remained in that posture for a considerable time—his brain flooded with disturbing reflections.
"I wish Schtoltz would come!" at length he remarked. "He has written that he is about to do so, but God knows what has
