"There is something about her; and Crawley was a fool, Squills." "A d---- fool--always was," the apothecary replied.
"Of course the old girl will fling him over," said the physician, and after a pause added, "She'll cut up well, I suppose." "Cut up," says Clump with a grin; "I wouldn't have her cut up for two hundred a year." "That Hampshire woman will kill her in two months, Clump, my boy, if she stops about her," Dr.Squills said.

"Old woman; full feeder; nervous subject; palpitation of the heart; pressure on the brain; apoplexy; off she goes.

Get her up, Clump; get her out: or I wouldn't give many weeks' purchase for your two hundred a year." And it was acting upon this hint that the worthy apothecary spoke with so much candour to Mrs.Bute Crawley.
Having the old lady under her hand: in bed: with nobody near, Mrs.Bute had made more than one assault upon her, to induce her to alter her will.

But Miss Crawley's usual terrors regarding death increased greatly when such dismal propositions were made to her, and Mrs.Bute saw that she must get her patient into cheerful spirits and health before she could hope to attain the pious object which she had in view.
Whither to take her was the next puzzle.

The only place where she is not likely to meet those odious Rawdons is at church, and that won't amuse her, Mrs.Bute justly felt.