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as if she hates to tell me, but then she lurches forward on both elbows to tell me anyway. "Well," she whispers, "Randolph, the oldest, he's almost sixty, just married for the third time to a little tramp who's always asking about the money. Whatever I leave to him she'll end up with, and I'd rather give it to you You are not allowed to view links. Register or Login, Rudy, than to my own son. Or to Professor Smoot, or to anyone but Randolph. Know what I mean?"
My heart stops. Inches, just inches, from striking paydirt with my first client. To hell with Brodnax and Speer and all those conferences awaiting me.
"You can't leave it to me, Miss Birdie," I say, and offer her my sweetest smile. My eyes, and probably my lips and mouth and nose as well, beg for her to say Yes! Dammit You are not allowed to view links. Register or Login! It's my money and I'll leave it to whomever I want, and if I want you, Rudy, to have it, then dammit! It's yours!
Instead, she says You are not allowed to view links. Register or Login, "Everything else goes to the Reverend Kenneth Chandler. Do you know him? He's on television all the time now, out of Dallas, and he's doing all sorts of wonderful things around the world with our donations, building homes, feeding babies, teaching from the Bible. I want him to have it."
"A television evangelist?"
"Oh, he's much more than an evangelist. He's a teacher and statesman and counselor, eats dinner with heads of state, you know, plus he's cute as a yilai：
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"So