Now that he was standing here in person, the whole scenario seemed surreal.
Now he was in Europe, caught up in a surreal battle of ancient titans, packing a semiautomatic in his Harris tweed, and holding hands with a woman he had only just met.
As they passed the first shrouded alcove, Langdon felt taut, like a contestant on some surreal game show.
Surreal wisps of memory sifted back into his consciousness …. A pyre of mystical fire …. an angel materializing from out of the crowd …. her soft hand taking his and leading him into the night …. guiding his exhausted, battered body through the streets …. leading him here …. to this suite …. propping him half-sleeping in a scalding hot shower …. leading him to this bed …. and watching over him as he fell asleep like the dead.