She must be beautiful because her burgundy hair falls unstyled to her shoulders (‘framing the warmth of her face,’ no less) which Langdon finds preferable to the ‘cookie-cutter blonde’ look of the Harvard preppies he’s been used to all his life.
More than that, she’s thirty two. Well, of course she is; I’ve
been thirty two ever since I was seventeen. Thirty two is the perfect age. (I
think I said that before.) And she wears a cream coloured, knee-length Irish
(!) sweater over black leggings. He never says she’s slim, but she must be.
Only slim women ever wear black leggings in populist literature. But the piece-de-resistance is irresistible:
She speaks impeccable English with an ‘Anglo-Franco’ accent.
OK, Dan, I’m hooked. Maybe now I can stop falling asleep in
front of the fire while I’m reading your book (which I didn’t do tonight,
notwithstanding the fact that I had precisely five hours sleep in bed last
night, and spent the two and a half hours before lunch clearing pieces of fallen
tree from a road drain and washing the car. The only thing I usually do before
lunch is make the bed and drink coffee. You have your cryptologist to thank for that.)
Sophie’s final words to close chapter 9:
‘Do not react to
this message. Just listen calmly. You are in danger right now. Follow my
directions very closely.’
Mlle Neveu is taking over! I promise I won’t go to sleep…
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