Hawthorne's eyes follow all of Gideon's movements, head bobbling up and down, affirming every partial-to-full sentence he gets out. "Yes I—" At that last bit he cringes, then wrinkles his nose and backs away from the shelf. Like it might bite him. "Oh."

This does seem like the exact sort of set up for an entry in Quackenbush Best Demises. A later entry. Less impressive than most, more memorable for the gore than anything. He snorts, crossing and uncrossing his arms, unwilling to let the library see his frustration.

"I guess I live here now." Hawthorne decides, resigned. "D'you want to take my last will and testament for me?"