Died with her

　　Miss Murdstone confirmed this with an audible murmur.

　　'Humph!' said my aunt.  'Unfortunate baby!'

　　Mr. Dick,  who had  been rattling  his money  all this  time, was rattling it so loudly now,  that my  aunt felt  it necessary  to check  him with a look, before saying:

　　'The poor child's annuity died with her?'

　　'Died with her,' replied Mr. Murdstone.

　　'And there was no settlement of the little property - the house and garden - the what's-its-name Rookery without any rooks in it - upon her boy?'

　　'It had been left to her, unconditionally, by her first husband,' Mr.  Murdstone began, when my aunt caught him up with the greatest irascibility and impatience.

　　'Good Lord, man, there's no occasion to say that.  Left to her  unconditionally! I think I see David Copperfield looking forward to any condition of any sort  or kind, though it stared  him point-blank in the  face!  Of course it  was left to her unconditionally.   But when  she married  again -  when she  took that  most disastrous step of marrying you, in short,' said my aunt, 'to be plain - did  no one put in a word for the boy at that time?'

　　'My late wife loved her second husband, ma'am,' said Mr. Murdstone, 'and trusted implicitly in him.'

　　'Your  late wife,  sir, was  a most  unworldly, most  unhappy, most  unfortunate baby,' returned my  aunt, shaking her  head at him.  'That's what she  was.  And now, what have you got to say next?'

　　'Merely this, Miss Trotwood,' he returned.  'I  am here to take David back -  to take him back unconditionally, to dispose of him as I think proper, and to  deal with him  as I  think right.   I am  not here  to make  any promise, or give any pledge to anybody.  You may possibly have some idea, Miss Trotwood, of  abetting him in his  running away, and  in his complaints  to you.  Your  manner, which I must say does not seem intended to propitiate, induces me to think it  possible. Now I must caution you that if you abet him once, you abet him for good and all; if you step  in between him  and me, now,  you must step  in, Miss Trotwood, for ever.  I cannot trifle, or be trifled  with.  I am here, for the first  and last time, to take him away.  Is he ready to  go?  If he is not - and you tell  me he is not;  on any  pretence; it  is indifferent  to me  what -  my doors  are shut against him henceforth, and yours, I take it for granted, are open to him.'