"Whom am I to appoint in the starosta's place?" asked Oblomov. "Another man might prove even worse than he."
"You yourself had better go to the estate, and stay there for the summer, and then move into my friend's house. / will see that her rooms shall be ready for you yes, I will see to it at once. Personally, I should have sold that property of yours, and bought another. Hand it over to me, and I will very soon make the folk there aware that I am alive!"
The upshot of it was that Oblomov accorded a half-hearted consent to Tarantiev's procuring him a new lodging, and also to his writing to the governor of the district where his (Oblomov's) property was situated. After that Tarantiev departed, stating that he would return to dinner at five o'clock. With Tarantiev's departure a calm of ten minutes reigned in the apartment. Oblomov was feeling greatly upset, both by the starosta's letter and by the prospect of the impending removal. Also, the tumultuous Tarantiev had thoroughly tired him out.
"Why do you not sit down and write the letter?" asked Alexiev. "If you wish I will clean the inkstand for you."
"Clean it, and the Lord bless you!"
