“Ah, Ilya, Ilya! Evidently you have let yourself go again. What have you been doing? Actually, it is five years since last we saw one another!”
Oblomov sighed, but said nothing.
“And why did you not come to Oblomovka?” pursued Schtoltz. “And why have you never written to me?”
“What was there to say?” was Oblomov’s sad reply. “You know me. Consequently you need ask no more.”
“So you are still living in these rooms?” And Schtoltz surveyed the room as he spoke. “Why have you not moved?”
“Because I am still here. I do not think the move will ever take place.”
“Why are you so sure?”
“Because I am sure.”
Again Schtoitz eyed him closely, then became thoughtful, and started to pace the room.
“And what of Olga Sergievna?” was Oblomov’s next question. “Where is she now, and does she still remember me?” At this point he broke off abruptly.