If they're not divorced and married again at the end of the year, you and Sir John simply turn everything over to the Malays or whatever they are.
It's something like 'dust to dust,' isn't it, after all?
I think it's easy sledding for you." Mr.Bowen was eventually won over by Mr.Hare's enthusiasm.
"Notifications" took wing and flew to different parts of the world, while many lawyers hovered like vultures to snatch at the bones should a war at law ensue.
Young Mr.Browne (he was hardly a doctor even in name) hastened downtown in response to a message from the American executor, and was told of the will which had been filed in England, the home land of the testator.

To say that this debonair, good-looking young gentleman was flabbergasted would be putting it more than mildly.

There is no word in the English language strong enough to describe his attitude at that perilous moment.
"What shall I do--what can I do, Mr.Bowen ?" he gasped, bewildered.
"Consult an attorney," advised Mr.Bowen promptly.
"I'll do it," shouted "Bobby" Browne, one time halfback on his college eleven.

"Break the will for me, Mr.Bowen, and I'll give--" "I can't break it, Bobby.

I'm its executor." "Good Lord! Well, then, who is the best will-breaker you know, please?
Something has to be done right away." "I'm afraid you don't grasp the situation.