[ A soft hum of anxiety is caused by Wesley's increasingly heightened emotions now, papers, then hands, catching Noth's attention. He doesn't like seeing or hearing any of this, yet he's the one to blame for reminding the librarian of the person he hates. ]

… It is dirty. Like mud and gravel in your wounds. Stuck under your nails. Can't wash it off. Too deep. Tend to them or let them infect you. It will hurt no matter what.

[ As the metaphor unravels, Noth's gaze turns dull. Wherever it's all coming from — it's his way of giving shape to what is so hard to think about. ]

I do not miss the people that hurt me.