He was speaking to me last night about his--about his Bones,' said Mr Dombey, laying an irritated stress upon the word.

'What on earth has anybody to do with the--with the--Bones of my son?
He is not a living skeleton, I suppose.
'Very far from it,' said Mrs Chick, with unspeakable expression.
'I hope so,' returned her brother.

'Funerals again! who talks to the child of funerals?
We are not undertakers, or mutes, or grave-diggers, I believe.' 'Very far from it,' interposed Mrs Chick, with the same profound expression as before.
'Then who puts such things into his head ?' said Mr Dombey.

'Really I was quite dismayed and shocked last night.

Who puts such things into his head, Louisa ?' 'My dear Paul,' said Mrs Chick, after a moment's silence, 'it is of no use inquiring.