Still swamped -- until some semblance of freedom returns, some Musil [from notes on 'the novel' in his diary]:

And Robert was exceedingly arrogant. When, yet again, he had read a book without getting anything from it, indeed even when he seemed fated never to find the right way, he was ashamed to confess this to a comrade.

Often he came home, firmly determined to give up reading altogether rather than to read the kind of books he studied up till then -- when he went into his room he was seized by a sense of sadness and pointlessness and, as if to rescue himself, he forced himself down on the chair at his desk to work at his books in the place where he sat as a child.