'David's son?
Indeed!' 'Yes,' pursued my aunt, 'and he has done a pretty piece of business.
He has run away.

Ah! His sister, Betsey Trotwood, never would have run away.' My aunt shook her head firmly, confident in the character and behaviour of the girl who never was born.
'Oh! you think she wouldn't have run away ?' said Mr.Dick.
'Bless and save the man,' exclaimed my aunt, sharply, 'how he talks! Don't I know she wouldn't?
She would have lived with her god-mother, and we should have been devoted to one another.

Where, in the name of wonder, should his sister, Betsey Trotwood, have run from, or to ?' 'Nowhere,' said Mr.Dick.
'Well then,' returned my aunt, softened by the reply, 'how can you pretend to be wool-gathering, Dick, when you are as sharp as a surgeon's lancet?
Now, here you see young David Copperfield, and the question I put to you is, what shall I do with him ?' 'What shall you do with him ?' said Mr.Dick, feebly, scratching his head.

'Oh! do with him ?' 'Yes,' said my aunt, with a grave look, and her forefinger held up.
'Come! I want some very sound advice.' 'Why, if I was you,' said Mr.Dick, considering, and looking vacantly at me, 'I should--' The contemplation of me seemed to inspire him with a sudden idea, and he added, briskly, 'I should wash him!' 'Janet,' said my aunt, turning round with a quiet triumph, which I did not then understand, 'Mr.Dick sets us all right.

Heat the bath!' Although I was deeply interested in this dialogue, I could not help observing my aunt, Mr.Dick, and Janet, while it was in progress, and completing a survey I had already been engaged in making of the room.
MY aunt was a tall, hard-featured lady, but by no means ill-looking.
There was an inflexibility in her face, in her voice, in her gait and carriage, amply sufficient to account for the effect she had made upon a gentle creature like my mother; but her features were rather handsome than otherwise, though unbending and austere.