Channing-Peabody looked away from them, Larch knew she'd seen the panties for what they were: women's underdrawers, plain as day. Eames's daughter had been paid enough for posing with the pony to be able to afford the abortion fee 'Off Harrison. 'Irrawaddy,' they would explain. She was a girl not quite Wilbur's age.
The board of trustees—in light of the evidence submitted against him—would privately call it a suicide; the man was about to be disgraced, they told themselves. Only a hand makes mistakes. 'Hey, I don't want to hear that!' she'd holler out the window when she could hear anyone pissing. Larch said that he was sure Angel would accept his father's sacrifice—'He'll value your need to be of use,' was how Wilbur Larch put it.
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