"And isn't that the folly of man?" Marcus asks with a smile, reaching out to take the charcoal from her. Her fingers are black with it and Marcus rubs his thumb against her fingertips, smearing it slightly. For so much of his life, there's been charcoal on his fingers, under his nails, in the creases of his knuckles. If he wasn't working, he was often drawing, and it's nice in a strange sort of way, to be on the other side of this. To be able to smudge the charcoal off her fingers and onto his own.

"We always want more," he says. "That's part of the reason for the vows we took as priests. To eliminate desires for alcohol and material things and sex was to eliminate the need for more. It did away with distraction, made it easier for us to focus on one thing. It's nice to be able to focus on more than one thing these days."

He looks at the picture, then back at Dutch before he bends to kiss her again. His hand lifts, cupping the side of her face and he realizes only too late he'll have gotten charcoal on her cheek.