She was a loving baby--I know that; I knew it, years before you ever saw her--and through the best part of her weakness you gave her the wounds she died of.

There is the truth for your comfort, however you like it.

And you and your instruments may make the most of it.' 'Allow me to inquire, Miss Trotwood,' interposed Miss Murdstone, 'whom you are pleased to call, in a choice of words in which I am not experienced, my brother's instruments ?' 'It was clear enough, as I have told you, years before YOU ever saw her--and why, in the mysterious dispensations of Providence, you ever did see her, is more than humanity can comprehend--it was clear enough that the poor soft little thing would marry somebody, at some time or other; but I did hope it wouldn't have been as bad as it has turned out.
That was the time, Mr.Murdstone, when she gave birth to her boy here,' said my aunt; 'to the poor child you sometimes tormented her through afterwards, which is a disagreeable remembrance and makes the sight of him odious now.

Aye, aye! you needn't wince!' said my aunt.

'I know it's true without that.' He had stood by the door, all this while, observant of her with a smile upon his face, though his black eyebrows were heavily contracted.