CHAPTER 8He went along the uneven brick walk under the living room windows that was a short cut to the wing. He was irritated at the Darrells, at Dr. Pardee, and also at himself. There was no use in even trying to pretend he’d made an imposing impression, either professionally or as self-appointed friend and adviser…or to pretend either that his ego was not slightly tattered as a result. Or, furthermore, that he could get Elizabeth Darrell out of his mind. She was all around him, in the violet haze that tinted the shafts of sunlight through the wisteria as he walked through the narrow arbor to his door, and in the squirming wound his pride was suffering that it wouldn’t be suffering if he hadn’t been trying to show her how wise and good he was. She was probably putting him down as a pompou
