Silas let out a dry, humorless laugh that echoed sharply in the quiet church. He reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a small, leather-bound notebook, its edges charred and stained. "The Bishop is a fool who thinks holiness is measured by the whiteness of his surplice. Real purity isn't the absence of dirt, Beatrice. It's the ability to walk through the deepest, darkest mire and come out the other side with your soul still intact."
"Time is a luxury for those with clean hands, Sister," Silas replied, tossing his coat over the back of a rear pew. "I have spent the last seventy-two hours in the belly of the beast, and I assure you, it is not a punctual place." [S7E7] Untainted by Filth
"I am still here. My purpose is still whole. I am untainted by their filth." Silas let out a dry, humorless laugh that
He placed his hand on the smooth, cool wood of the altar, leaving no trace of dirt behind. Real purity isn't the absence of dirt, Beatrice
Silas stopped at the altar rail. He looked up at the great stained-glass window above them, where the morning light was finally beginning to pour through, shattering into brilliant pools of crimson, sapphire, and gold on the floor.
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.