His standing in the five measures
The mark is the point: he slowed the work to the speed of reading and moved in. The job is a hermitage with a salary. Minus two because he does, in the end, make the bales, and makes them beautifully.
Docked a single point for the reason he would insist on himself: he can no longer tell which thoughts are his own and which came down through the hole with the paper.
The lowest mark yet awarded. A staircase, a cellar, a tavern; his travels are conducted through the rescued pages, the only tourism he has ever trusted.
Quiet, total, and never once announced. His lateness is his politics; his cellar is a resistance cell with a staff of one. Missing a point because his refusal never learns to say no aloud.
Low, and tender in its lowness: authors he argues with, mice who share his sandwiches. Not a hermit by grievance but by acoustics.