"Begin 'My dear sir,' or 'Dear sir,' that will be better, and say you are desired by Miss Crawley--no, by Miss Crawley's medical man, by Mr. Creamer, to state that my health is such that all strong emotions would be dangerous in my present delicate condition--and that I must decline any family discussions or interviews whatever. And thank him for coming to Brighton, and so forth, and beg him not to stay any longer on my account. And, Miss Briggs, you may add that I wish him a bon voyage, and that if he will take the trouble to call upon my lawyer's in Gray's Inn Square, he will find there a communication for him. Yes, that will do; and that will make him leave Brighton." The benevolent Briggs penned this sentence with the utmost satisfaction.
"To seize upon me the very day after Mrs. Bute was gone," the old lady prattled on; "it was too indecent. Briggs, my dear, write to Mrs. Crawley, and say SHE needn't come back. No--she needn't--and she shan't--and I won't be a slave in my own house--and I won't be starved and choked with poison. They all want to kill me--all--all"--and with this the lonely old woman burst into a scream of hysterical tears.
The last scene of her dismal Vanity Fair comedy was fast approaching; the tawdry lamps were going out one by one; and the dark curtain was almost ready to descend.

"Begin 'Dear sir,', and say you are desired by Miss Crawley - no, by Miss Crawley's medical man, by Mr. Creamer, to state that my health is so delicate that all strong emotions would be dangerous - and that I must decline any family interviews whatever. And thank him for coming to Brighton, and so forth, and beg him not to stay any longer on my account. You may add that I wish him a bon voyage, and that if he calls upon my lawyer's in Gray's Inn Square, he will find there something for him. That will do; that will make him leave Brighton." Briggs penned this with satisfaction.
"To seize upon me the very day after Mrs. Bute was gone," the old lady went on; "it was indecent. Briggs, my dear, write to Mrs. Bute Crawley, and say she needn't come back. No - she shan't - I won't be a slave in my own house - and I won't be starved and choked with poison. They all want to kill me - all!" - and the lonely old woman burst into hysterical tears.
The last scene of her dismal Vanity Fair comedy was fast approaching; the tawdry lamps were going out one by one; and the dark curtain was almost ready to descend.
