Chapter 27: August

⁠​​​‌​​​​‌​‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​​​​​​​​‌‌‌​​​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​‌‌‌‌‌​‌​​​​​‌‌⁠What a misfortune, Wilhelm! My active spirits have degenerated into contented indolence. I cannot be idle, and yet I am unable to set to work. I cannot think: I have no longer any feeling for the beauties of nature, and books are distasteful to me. Once we give ourselves up, we are totally lost. Many a time and oft I wish I were a common labourer; that, awakening in the morning, I might have but o