“You are wiser than I am,” he murmured, twisting a sprig of acacia between his fingers.
“No, I am simpler and more daring than you. What are you afraid of? Do you really think that I should cease to love you?”
“With you by my side I fear nothing,” he replied. “With you by my side nothing terrible can fall to my lot.”
PART III
I
Oblomov’s face beamed as he walked home. His blood was boiling, and a light was shining in his eyes. He entered his room—and at once, the radiance disappeared as his eyes, full of disgusted astonishment, became glued to one particular spot. That particular spot was the arm-chair, wherein was snugly ensconced Tarantiev.