"The Bishop is asking questions about your presence here," she warned him softly. "He says a man of your... reputation... does not belong in a place dedicated to purity. He says you bring the grime of the world in with you."
"You are late, Silas," she said, her voice flat and devoid of the warmth she usually reserved for the parish faithful. [S7E7] Untainted by Filth
"At what cost, Silas?" Beatrice asked, her eyes tracing a fresh, angry red scar that ran along his jawline. "Look at you. You are bleeding, exhausted, and hunted. You live in the filth you fight." "The Bishop is asking questions about your presence
The heavy oak doors of the sanctuary creaked open, admitting a slice of thin, gray morning light. Sister Beatrice paused her sweeping, the bristles of her broom frozen against the stone floor. She did not need to look up to know who had entered. The scent of ozone, rain, and expensive, unwashed linen always preceded him. does not belong in a place dedicated to purity
"I am still here. My purpose is still whole. I am untainted by their filth."
Silas stepped into the nave, pulling off a mud-spattered leather greatcoat. He looked entirely out of place beneath the soaring, vaulted ceilings and the serene gaze of the painted saints. His face was gaunt, his eyes rimmed with the dark circles of a man who hadn’t slept in three days, yet there was a manic energy in the way he moved.
"Then come," she said, her voice finally softening into a whisper of a smile. "Sit down. Tell me the story of how you survived the dark, and let me help you wash away the road."