During my recital, she kept her eyes on Mr.Dick, who I thought would have gone to sleep but for that, and who, whensoever he lapsed into a smile, was checked by a frown from my aunt.
'Whatever possessed that poor unfortunate Baby, that she must go and be married again,' said my aunt, when I had finished, 'I can't conceive.' 'Perhaps she fell in love with her second husband,' Mr.Dick suggested.
'Fell in love!' repeated my aunt.

'What do you mean?
What business had she to do it ?' 'Perhaps,' Mr.Dick simpered, after thinking a little, 'she did it for pleasure.' 'Pleasure, indeed!' replied my aunt.

'A mighty pleasure for the poor Baby to fix her simple faith upon any dog of a fellow, certain to ill-use her in some way or other.

What did she propose to herself, I should like to know! She had had one husband.

She had seen David Copperfield out of the world, who was always running after wax dolls from his cradle.