Every summer, he begins work with great ambition, W. says. By the end of the summer, it's all gone wrong. Why does he never learn?, W. muses. Why does nothing change?
It's a great mystery to him, W. says, his eternal capacity for hope and the eternal destruction of his capacity for hope. He lives and dies a whole lifetime over summer, W. says, and is reborn every autumn, a little more stupid.
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