["[Event happened on 2024-01-01 The user is reading a book]\n<User> On going down in the morning, I found my aunt musing so profoundly over\nthe breakfast table, with her elbow on the tray, that the contents of\nthe urn had overflowed the teapot and were laying the whole table-cloth\nunder water, when my entrance put her meditations to flight. I felt sure\nthat I had been the subject of her reflections, and was more than ever\nanxious to know her intentions towards me. Yet I dared not express my\nanxiety, lest it should give her offence. My eyes, however, not being so much under control as my tongue, were\nattracted towards my aunt very often during breakfast. I never could\nlook at her for a few moments together but I found her looking at me--in\nan odd thoughtful manner, as if I were an immense way off, instead of\nbeing on the other side of the small round table. When she had finished\nher breakfast, my aunt very deliberately leaned back in her chair,\nknitted her brows, folded her arms, and contemplated me at her leisure,\nwith such a fixedness of attention that I was quite overpowered by\nembarrassment. Not having as yet finished my own breakfast, I attempted\nto hide my confusion by proceeding with it; but my knife tumbled over my\nfork, my fork tripped up my knife, I chipped bits of bacon a surprising\nheight into the air instead of cutting them for my own eating, and\nchoked myself with my tea, which persisted in going the wrong way\ninstead of the right one, until I gave in altogether, and sat blushing\nunder my aunt's close scrutiny. 'Hallo!' said my aunt, after a long time. I looked up, and met her sharp bright glance respectfully. 'I have written to him,' said my aunt. 'To--?' 'To your father-in-law,' said my aunt. 'I have sent him a letter that\nI'll trouble him to attend to, or he and I will fall out, I can tell\nhim!' 'Does he know where I am, aunt?' I inquired, alarmed. 'I have told him,' said my aunt, with a nod. 'Shall I--be--given up to him?' I faltered. 'I don't know,' said my aunt. 'We shall see.' 'Oh! I can't think what I shall do,' I exclaimed, 'if I have to go back\nto Mr. Murdstone!' 'I don't know anything about it,' said my aunt, shaking her head. 'I\ncan't say, I am sure. We shall see.' My spirits sank under these words, and I became very downcast and heavy\nof heart. My aunt, without appearing to take much heed of me, put on a\ncoarse apron with a bib, which she took out of the press; washed up the\nteacups with her own hands; and, when everything was washed and set in\nthe tray again, and the cloth folded and put on the top of the whole,\nrang for Janet to remove it. She next swept up the crumbs with a little\nbroom (putting on a pair of gloves first), until there did not appear\nto be one microscopic speck left on the carpet; next dusted and arranged\nthe room, which was dusted and arranged to a hair's breadth already. When all these tasks were performed to her satisfaction, she took off\nthe gloves and apron, folded them up, put them in the particular corner\nof the press from which they had been taken, brought out her work-box\nto her own table in the open window, and sat down, with the green fan\nbetween her and the light, to work. 'I wish you'd go upstairs,' said my aunt, as she threaded her needle,\n'and give my compliments to Mr. Dick, and I'll be glad to know how he\ngets on with his Memorial.' I rose with all alacrity, to acquit myself of this commission. 'I suppose,' said my aunt, eyeing me as narrowly as she had eyed the\nneedle in threading it, 'you think Mr. Dick a short name, eh?' 'I thought it was rather a short name, yesterday,' I confessed. 'You are not to suppose that he hasn't got a longer name, if he chose\nto use it,' said my aunt, with a loftier air. 'Babley--Mr. Richard\nBabley--that's the gentleman's true name.' I was going to suggest, with a modest sense of my youth and the\nfamiliarity I had been already guilty of, that I had better give him the\nfull benefit of that name, when my aunt went on to say:\n\n'But don't you call him by it, whatever you do. He can't bear his name. That's a peculiarity of his. Though I don't know that it's much of a\npeculiarity, either; for he has been ill-used enough, by some that bear\nit, to have a mortal antipathy for it, Heaven knows. Mr. Dick is his\nname here, and everywhere else, now--if he ever went anywhere else,\nwhich he don't. So take care, child, you don't call him anything BUT Mr. Dick.' I promised to obey, and went upstairs with my message; thinking, as I\nwent, that if Mr. Dick had been working at his Memorial long, at the\nsame rate as I had seen him working at it, through the open door, when\nI came down, he was probably getting on very well indeed. I found him\nstill driving at it with a long pen, and his head almost laid upon the\npaper. He was so intent upon it, that I had ample leisure to observe the\nlarge paper kite in a corner, the confusion of bundles of manuscript,\nthe number of pens, and, above all, the quantity of ink (which he seemed\nto have in, in half-gallon jars by the dozen), before he observed my\nbeing present. 'Ha! Phoebus!' said Mr. Dick, laying down his pen. 'How does the world\ngo? I'll tell you what,' he added, in a lower tone, 'I shouldn't wish it\nto be mentioned, but it's a--' here he beckoned to me, and put his lips\nclose to my ear--'it's a mad world. Mad as Bedlam, boy!' said Mr. Dick,\ntaking snuff from a round box on the table, and laughing heartily. Without presuming to give my opinion on this question, I delivered my\nmessage. 'Well,' said Mr. Dick, in answer, 'my compliments to her, and I--I\nbelieve I have made a start. I think I have made a start,' said Mr.\nDick, passing his hand among his grey hair, and casting anything but a\nconfident look at his manuscript. 'You have been to school?' 'Yes, sir,' I answered; 'for a short time.' 'Do you recollect the date,' said Mr. Dick, looking earnestly at me, and\ntaking up his pen to note it down, 'when King Charles the First had his\nhead cut off?' I said I believed it happened in the year sixteen hundred\nand forty-nine. 'Well,' returned Mr. Dick, scratching his ear with his pen, and looking\ndubiously at me. 'So the books say; but I don't see how that can be. Because, if it was so long ago, how could the people about him have made\nthat mistake of putting some of the trouble out of his head, after it\nwas taken off, into mine?' I was very much surprised by the inquiry; but could give no information\non this point. 'It's very strange,' said Mr. Dick, with a despondent look upon his\npapers, and with his hand among his hair again, 'that I never can get\nthat quite right. I never can make that perfectly clear. But no matter,\nno matter!' he said cheerfully, and rousing himself, 'there's time\nenough! My compliments to Miss Trotwood, I am getting on very well\nindeed.' I was going away, when he directed my attention to the kite. 'What do you think of that for a kite?' he said. I answered that it was a beautiful one. I should think it must have been\nas much as seven feet high. 'I made it. We'll go and fly it, you and I,' said Mr. Dick. 'Do you see\nthis?' He showed me that it was covered with manuscript, very closely and\nlaboriously written; but so plainly, that as I looked along the lines,\nI thought I saw some allusion to King Charles the First's head again, in\none or two places. 'There's plenty of string,' said Mr. Dick, 'and when it flies high, it\ntakes the facts a long way. That's my manner of diffusing 'em. I don't\nknow where they may come down. It's according to circumstances, and the\nwind, and so forth; but I take my chance of that.' His face was so very mild and pleasant, and had something so reverend in\nit, though it was hale and hearty, that I was not sure but that he was\nhaving a good-humoured jest with me. So I laughed, and he laughed, and\nwe parted the best friends possible.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-01, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-02 The user is reading a book]\n<User> 'Well, child,' said my aunt, when I went downstairs. 'And what of Mr.\nDick, this morning?' I informed her that he sent his compliments, and was getting on very\nwell indeed. 'What do you think of him?' said my aunt. I had some shadowy idea of endeavouring to evade the question, by\nreplying that I thought him a very nice gentleman; but my aunt was\nnot to be so put off, for she laid her work down in her lap, and said,\nfolding her hands upon it:\n\n'Come! Your sister Betsey Trotwood would have told me what she thought\nof anyone, directly. Be as like your sister as you can, and speak out!' 'Is he--is Mr. Dick--I ask because I don't know, aunt--is he at all out\nof his mind, then?' I stammered; for I felt I was on dangerous ground. 'Not a morsel,' said my aunt. 'Oh, indeed!' I observed faintly. 'If there is anything in the world,' said my aunt, with great decision\nand force of manner, 'that Mr. Dick is not, it's that.' I had nothing better to offer, than another timid, 'Oh, indeed!' 'He has been CALLED mad,' said my aunt. 'I have a selfish pleasure in\nsaying he has been called mad, or I should not have had the benefit of\nhis society and advice for these last ten years and upwards--in fact,\never since your sister, Betsey Trotwood, disappointed me.' 'So long as that?' I said. 'And nice people they were, who had the audacity to call him mad,'\npursued my aunt. 'Mr. Dick is a sort of distant connexion of mine--it\ndoesn't matter how; I needn't enter into that. If it hadn't been for me,\nhis own brother would have shut him up for life. That's all.' I am afraid it was hypocritical in me, but seeing that my aunt felt\nstrongly on the subject, I tried to look as if I felt strongly too. 'A proud fool!' said my aunt. 'Because his brother was a little\neccentric--though he is not half so eccentric as a good many people--he\ndidn't like to have him visible about his house, and sent him away to\nsome private asylum-place: though he had been left to his particular\ncare by their deceased father, who thought him almost a natural. And a\nwise man he must have been to think so! Mad himself, no doubt.' Again, as my aunt looked quite convinced, I endeavoured to look quite\nconvinced also. 'So I stepped in,' said my aunt, 'and made him an offer. I said, \"Your\nbrother's sane--a great deal more sane than you are, or ever will be, it\nis to be hoped. Let him have his little income, and come and live with\nme. I am not afraid of him, I am not proud, I am ready to take care\nof him, and shall not ill-treat him as some people (besides the\nasylum-folks) have done.\" After a good deal of squabbling,' said my\naunt, 'I got him; and he has been here ever since. He is the most\nfriendly and amenable creature in existence; and as for advice!--But\nnobody knows what that man's mind is, except myself.' My aunt smoothed her dress and shook her head, as if she smoothed\ndefiance of the whole world out of the one, and shook it out of the\nother. 'He had a favourite sister,' said my aunt, 'a good creature, and very\nkind to him. But she did what they all do--took a husband. And HE did\nwhat they all do--made her wretched. It had such an effect upon the mind\nof Mr. Dick (that's not madness, I hope!) that, combined with his fear\nof his brother, and his sense of his unkindness, it threw him into a\nfever. That was before he came to me, but the recollection of it is\noppressive to him even now. Did he say anything to you about King\nCharles the First, child?' 'Yes, aunt.' 'Ah!' said my aunt, rubbing her nose as if she were a little vexed. 'That's his allegorical way of expressing it. He connects his illness\nwith great disturbance and agitation, naturally, and that's the figure,\nor the simile, or whatever it's called, which he chooses to use. And why\nshouldn't he, if he thinks proper!' I said: 'Certainly, aunt.' 'It's not a business-like way of speaking,' said my aunt, 'nor a worldly\nway. I am aware of that; and that's the reason why I insist upon it,\nthat there shan't be a word about it in his Memorial.' 'Is it a Memorial about his own history that he is writing, aunt?' 'Yes, child,' said my aunt, rubbing her nose again. 'He is memorializing\nthe Lord Chancellor, or the Lord Somebody or other--one of those people,\nat all events, who are paid to be memorialized--about his affairs. I\nsuppose it will go in, one of these days. He hasn't been able to draw\nit up yet, without introducing that mode of expressing himself; but it\ndon't signify; it keeps him employed.' In fact, I found out afterwards that Mr. Dick had been for upwards\nof ten years endeavouring to keep King Charles the First out of the\nMemorial; but he had been constantly getting into it, and was there now. 'I say again,' said my aunt, 'nobody knows what that man's mind is\nexcept myself; and he's the most amenable and friendly creature in\nexistence. If he likes to fly a kite sometimes, what of that! Franklin\nused to fly a kite. He was a Quaker, or something of that sort, if I\nam not mistaken. And a Quaker flying a kite is a much more ridiculous\nobject than anybody else.' If I could have supposed that my aunt had recounted these particulars\nfor my especial behoof, and as a piece of confidence in me, I should\nhave felt very much distinguished, and should have augured favourably\nfrom such a mark of her good opinion. But I could hardly help observing\nthat she had launched into them, chiefly because the question was raised\nin her own mind, and with very little reference to me, though she had\naddressed herself to me in the absence of anybody else. At the same time, I must say that the generosity of her championship\nof poor harmless Mr. Dick, not only inspired my young breast with\nsome selfish hope for myself, but warmed it unselfishly towards her. I believe that I began to know that there was something about my aunt,\nnotwithstanding her many eccentricities and odd humours, to be honoured\nand trusted in. Though she was just as sharp that day as on the day\nbefore, and was in and out about the donkeys just as often, and was\nthrown into a tremendous state of indignation, when a young man, going\nby, ogled Janet at a window (which was one of the gravest misdemeanours\nthat could be committed against my aunt's dignity), she seemed to me to\ncommand more of my respect, if not less of my fear. The anxiety I underwent, in the interval which necessarily elapsed\nbefore a reply could be received to her letter to Mr. Murdstone, was\nextreme; but I made an endeavour to suppress it, and to be as agreeable\nas I could in a quiet way, both to my aunt and Mr. Dick. The latter and\nI would have gone out to fly the great kite; but that I had still no\nother clothes than the anything but ornamental garments with which I\nhad been decorated on the first day, and which confined me to the house,\nexcept for an hour after dark, when my aunt, for my health's sake,\nparaded me up and down on the cliff outside, before going to bed. At\nlength the reply from Mr. Murdstone came, and my aunt informed me, to my\ninfinite terror, that he was coming to speak to her herself on the next\nday. On the next day, still bundled up in my curious habiliments, I sat\ncounting the time, flushed and heated by the conflict of sinking hopes\nand rising fears within me; and waiting to be startled by the sight of\nthe gloomy face, whose non-arrival startled me every minute. My aunt was a little more imperious and stern than usual, but I observed\nno other token of her preparing herself to receive the visitor so much\ndreaded by me. She sat at work in the window, and I sat by, with my\nthoughts running astray on all possible and impossible results of Mr.\nMurdstone's visit, until pretty late in the afternoon.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-02, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-03 The user is reading a book]\n<User> Our dinner had\nbeen indefinitely postponed; but it was growing so late, that my aunt\nhad ordered it to be got ready, when she gave a sudden alarm of donkeys,\nand to my consternation and amazement, I beheld Miss Murdstone, on a\nside-saddle, ride deliberately over the sacred piece of green, and stop\nin front of the house, looking about her. 'Go along with you!' cried my aunt, shaking her head and her fist at the\nwindow. 'You have no business there. How dare you trespass? Go along! Oh! you bold-faced thing!' My aunt was so exasperated by the coolness with which Miss Murdstone\nlooked about her, that I really believe she was motionless, and unable\nfor the moment to dart out according to custom. I seized the opportunity\nto inform her who it was; and that the gentleman now coming near the\noffender (for the way up was very steep, and he had dropped behind), was\nMr. Murdstone himself. 'I don't care who it is!' cried my aunt, still shaking her head and\ngesticulating anything but welcome from the bow-window. 'I won't be\ntrespassed upon. I won't allow it. Go away! Janet, turn him round. Lead him off!' and I saw, from behind my aunt, a sort of hurried\nbattle-piece, in which the donkey stood resisting everybody, with all\nhis four legs planted different ways, while Janet tried to pull him\nround by the bridle, Mr. Murdstone tried to lead him on, Miss Murdstone\nstruck at Janet with a parasol, and several boys, who had come to see\nthe engagement, shouted vigorously. But my aunt, suddenly descrying\namong them the young malefactor who was the donkey's guardian, and who\nwas one of the most inveterate offenders against her, though hardly in\nhis teens, rushed out to the scene of action, pounced upon him, captured\nhim, dragged him, with his jacket over his head, and his heels grinding\nthe ground, into the garden, and, calling upon Janet to fetch the\nconstables and justices, that he might be taken, tried, and executed on\nthe spot, held him at bay there. This part of the business, however, did\nnot last long; for the young rascal, being expert at a variety of feints\nand dodges, of which my aunt had no conception, soon went whooping away,\nleaving some deep impressions of his nailed boots in the flower-beds,\nand taking his donkey in triumph with him. Miss Murdstone, during the latter portion of the contest, had\ndismounted, and was now waiting with her brother at the bottom of the\nsteps, until my aunt should be at leisure to receive them. My aunt, a\nlittle ruffled by the combat, marched past them into the house, with\ngreat dignity, and took no notice of their presence, until they were\nannounced by Janet. 'Shall I go away, aunt?' I asked, trembling. 'No, sir,' said my aunt. 'Certainly not!' With which she pushed me into\na corner near her, and fenced Me in with a chair, as if it were a prison\nor a bar of justice. This position I continued to occupy during the\nwhole interview, and from it I now saw Mr. and Miss Murdstone enter the\nroom. 'Oh!' said my aunt, 'I was not aware at first to whom I had the pleasure\nof objecting. But I don't allow anybody to ride over that turf. I make\nno exceptions. I don't allow anybody to do it.' 'Your regulation is rather awkward to strangers,' said Miss Murdstone. 'Is it!' said my aunt. Mr. Murdstone seemed afraid of a renewal of hostilities, and interposing\nbegan:\n\n'Miss Trotwood!' 'I beg your pardon,' observed my aunt with a keen look. 'You are the Mr.\nMurdstone who married the widow of my late nephew, David Copperfield, of\nBlunderstone Rookery!--Though why Rookery, I don't know!' 'I am,' said Mr. Murdstone. 'You'll excuse my saying, sir,' returned my aunt, 'that I think it would\nhave been a much better and happier thing if you had left that poor\nchild alone.' 'I so far agree with what Miss Trotwood has remarked,' observed Miss\nMurdstone, bridling, 'that I consider our lamented Clara to have been,\nin all essential respects, a mere child.' 'It is a comfort to you and me, ma'am,' said my aunt, 'who are getting\non in life, and are not likely to be made unhappy by our personal\nattractions, that nobody can say the same of us.' 'No doubt!' returned Miss Murdstone, though, I thought, not with a very\nready or gracious assent. 'And it certainly might have been, as you say,\na better and happier thing for my brother if he had never entered into\nsuch a marriage. I have always been of that opinion.' 'I have no doubt you have,' said my aunt. 'Janet,' ringing the bell, 'my\ncompliments to Mr. Dick, and beg him to come down.' Until he came, my aunt sat perfectly upright and stiff, frowning at the\nwall. When he came, my aunt performed the ceremony of introduction. 'Mr. Dick. An old and intimate friend. On whose judgement,' said my\naunt, with emphasis, as an admonition to Mr. Dick, who was biting his\nforefinger and looking rather foolish, 'I rely.' Mr. Dick took his finger out of his mouth, on this hint, and stood among\nthe group, with a grave and attentive expression of face. My aunt inclined her head to Mr. Murdstone, who went on:\n\n'Miss Trotwood: on the receipt of your letter, I considered it an act of\ngreater justice to myself, and perhaps of more respect to you--'\n\n'Thank you,' said my aunt, still eyeing him keenly. 'You needn't mind\nme.' 'To answer it in person, however inconvenient the journey,' pursued Mr.\nMurdstone, 'rather than by letter. This unhappy boy who has run away\nfrom his friends and his occupation--'\n\n'And whose appearance,' interposed his sister, directing general\nattention to me in my indefinable costume, 'is perfectly scandalous and\ndisgraceful.' 'Jane Murdstone,' said her brother, 'have the goodness not to interrupt\nme. This unhappy boy, Miss Trotwood, has been the occasion of much\ndomestic trouble and uneasiness; both during the lifetime of my late\ndear wife, and since. He has a sullen, rebellious spirit; a violent\ntemper; and an untoward, intractable disposition. Both my sister and\nmyself have endeavoured to correct his vices, but ineffectually. And\nI have felt--we both have felt, I may say; my sister being fully in\nmy confidence--that it is right you should receive this grave and\ndispassionate assurance from our lips.' 'It can hardly be necessary for me to confirm anything stated by my\nbrother,' said Miss Murdstone; 'but I beg to observe, that, of all the\nboys in the world, I believe this is the worst boy.' 'Strong!' said my aunt, shortly. 'But not at all too strong for the facts,' returned Miss Murdstone. 'Ha!' said my aunt. 'Well, sir?' 'I have my own opinions,' resumed Mr. Murdstone, whose face darkened\nmore and more, the more he and my aunt observed each other, which they\ndid very narrowly, 'as to the best mode of bringing him up; they are\nfounded, in part, on my knowledge of him, and in part on my knowledge of\nmy own means and resources. I am responsible for them to myself, I act\nupon them, and I say no more about them. It is enough that I place this\nboy under the eye of a friend of my own, in a respectable business;\nthat it does not please him; that he runs away from it; makes himself a\ncommon vagabond about the country; and comes here, in rags, to appeal\nto you, Miss Trotwood. I wish to set before you, honourably, the exact\nconsequences--so far as they are within my knowledge--of your abetting\nhim in this appeal.' 'But about the respectable business first,' said my aunt. 'If he had\nbeen your own boy, you would have put him to it, just the same, I\nsuppose?' 'If he had been my brother's own boy,' returned Miss Murdstone, striking\nin, 'his character, I trust, would have been altogether different.' 'Or if the poor child, his mother, had been alive, he would still have\ngone into the respectable business, would he?' said my aunt.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-03, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-06 The user is reading a book]\n<User> 'I believe,' said Mr. Murdstone, with an inclination of his head,\n'that Clara would have disputed nothing which myself and my sister Jane\nMurdstone were agreed was for the best.' 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\nso loudly now, that my aunt felt it necessary to check him with a look,\nbefore saying:\n\n'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\ngarden--the what's-its-name Rookery without any rooks in it--upon her\nboy?' 'It had been left to her, unconditionally, by her first husband,'\nMr. Murdstone began, when my aunt caught him up with the greatest\nirascibility and impatience. 'Good Lord, man, there's no occasion to say that. Left to her\nunconditionally! I think I see David Copperfield looking forward to any\ncondition of any sort or kind, though it stared him point-blank in the\nface! Of course it was left to her unconditionally. But when she married\nagain--when she took that most disastrous step of marrying you, in\nshort,' said my aunt, 'to be plain--did no one put in a word for the boy\nat that time?' 'My late wife loved her second husband, ma'am,' said Mr. Murdstone, 'and\ntrusted implicitly in him.' 'Your late wife, sir, was a most unworldly, most unhappy, most\nunfortunate baby,' returned my aunt, shaking her head at him. 'That's\nwhat she was. And now, what have you got to say next?' 'Merely this, Miss Trotwood,' he returned. 'I am here to take David\nback--to take him back unconditionally, to dispose of him as I think\nproper, and to deal with him as I think right. I am not here to make any\npromise, or give any pledge to anybody. You may possibly have some\nidea, Miss Trotwood, of abetting him in his running away, and in his\ncomplaints to you. Your manner, which I must say does not seem intended\nto propitiate, induces me to think it possible. Now I must caution you\nthat if you abet him once, you abet him for good and all; if you step\nin 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\ntime, to take him away. Is he ready to go? If he is not--and you tell me\nhe is not; on any pretence; it is indifferent to me what--my doors are\nshut against him henceforth, and yours, I take it for granted, are open\nto him.' To this address, my aunt had listened with the closest attention,\nsitting perfectly upright, with her hands folded on one knee, and\nlooking grimly on the speaker. When he had finished, she turned her\neyes so as to command Miss Murdstone, without otherwise disturbing her\nattitude, and said:\n\n'Well, ma'am, have YOU got anything to remark?' 'Indeed, Miss Trotwood,' said Miss Murdstone, 'all that I could say has\nbeen so well said by my brother, and all that I know to be the fact\nhas been so plainly stated by him, that I have nothing to add except my\nthanks for your politeness. For your very great politeness, I am sure,'\nsaid Miss Murdstone; with an irony which no more affected my aunt, than\nit discomposed the cannon I had slept by at Chatham. 'And what does the boy say?' said my aunt. 'Are you ready to go, David?' I answered no, and entreated her not to let me go. I said that neither\nMr. nor Miss Murdstone had ever liked me, or had ever been kind to me. That they had made my mama, who always loved me dearly, unhappy about\nme, and that I knew it well, and that Peggotty knew it. I said that I\nhad been more miserable than I thought anybody could believe, who only\nknew how young I was. And I begged and prayed my aunt--I forget in\nwhat terms now, but I remember that they affected me very much then--to\nbefriend and protect me, for my father's sake. 'Mr. Dick,' said my aunt, 'what shall I do with this child?' Mr. Dick considered, hesitated, brightened, and rejoined, 'Have him\nmeasured for a suit of clothes directly.' 'Mr. Dick,' said my aunt triumphantly, 'give me your hand, for your\ncommon sense is invaluable.' Having shaken it with great cordiality, she\npulled me towards her and said to Mr. Murdstone:\n\n'You can go when you like; I'll take my chance with the boy. If he's all\nyou say he is, at least I can do as much for him then, as you have done. But I don't believe a word of it.' 'Miss Trotwood,' rejoined Mr. Murdstone, shrugging his shoulders, as he\nrose, 'if you were a gentleman--'\n\n'Bah! Stuff and nonsense!' said my aunt. 'Don't talk to me!' 'How exquisitely polite!' exclaimed Miss Murdstone, rising. 'Overpowering, really!' 'Do you think I don't know,' said my aunt, turning a deaf ear to the\nsister, and continuing to address the brother, and to shake her head at\nhim with infinite expression, 'what kind of life you must have led that\npoor, unhappy, misdirected baby? Do you think I don't know what a woeful\nday it was for the soft little creature when you first came in her\nway--smirking and making great eyes at her, I'll be bound, as if you\ncouldn't say boh! to a goose!' 'I never heard anything so elegant!' said Miss Murdstone. 'Do you think I can't understand you as well as if I had seen you,'\npursued my aunt, 'now that I DO see and hear you--which, I tell you\ncandidly, is anything but a pleasure to me? Oh yes, bless us! who so\nsmooth and silky as Mr. Murdstone at first! The poor, benighted innocent\nhad never seen such a man. He was made of sweetness. He worshipped her. He doted on her boy--tenderly doted on him! He was to be another father\nto him, and they were all to live together in a garden of roses, weren't\nthey? Ugh! Get along with you, do!' said my aunt. 'I never heard anything like this person in my life!' exclaimed Miss\nMurdstone. 'And when you had made sure of the poor little fool,' said my aunt--'God\nforgive me that I should call her so, and she gone where YOU won't go in\na hurry--because you had not done wrong enough to her and hers, you\nmust begin to train her, must you? begin to break her, like a poor\ncaged bird, and wear her deluded life away, in teaching her to sing YOUR\nnotes?' 'This is either insanity or intoxication,' said Miss Murdstone, in a\nperfect agony at not being able to turn the current of my aunt's address\ntowards herself; 'and my suspicion is that it's intoxication.' Miss Betsey, without taking the least notice of the interruption,\ncontinued to address herself to Mr. Murdstone as if there had been no\nsuch thing. 'Mr. Murdstone,' she said, shaking her finger at him, 'you were a tyrant\nto the simple baby, and you broke her heart. She was a loving baby--I\nknow that; I knew it, years before you ever saw her--and through the\nbest part of her weakness you gave her the wounds she died of. There\nis the truth for your comfort, however you like it. And you and your\ninstruments may make the most of it.' 'Allow me to inquire, Miss Trotwood,' interposed Miss Murdstone,\n'whom you are pleased to call, in a choice of words in which I am not\nexperienced, my brother's instruments?' 'It was clear enough, as I have told you, years before YOU ever saw\nher--and why, in the mysterious dispensations of Providence, you ever\ndid see her, is more than humanity can comprehend--it was clear enough\nthat the poor soft little thing would marry somebody, at some time or\nother; but I did hope it wouldn't have been as bad as it has turned out.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-06, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-08 The user is reading a book]\n<User> That was the time, Mr. Murdstone, when she gave birth to her boy here,'\nsaid my aunt; 'to the poor child you sometimes tormented her through\nafterwards, which is a disagreeable remembrance and makes the sight of\nhim odious now. Aye, aye! you needn't wince!' said my aunt. 'I know it's\ntrue without that.' He had stood by the door, all this while, observant of her with a smile\nupon his face, though his black eyebrows were heavily contracted. I\nremarked now, that, though the smile was on his face still, his colour\nhad gone in a moment, and he seemed to breathe as if he had been\nrunning. 'Good day, sir,' said my aunt, 'and good-bye! Good day to you, too,\nma'am,' said my aunt, turning suddenly upon his sister. 'Let me see you\nride a donkey over my green again, and as sure as you have a head upon\nyour shoulders, I'll knock your bonnet off, and tread upon it!' It would require a painter, and no common painter too, to depict my\naunt's face as she delivered herself of this very unexpected sentiment,\nand Miss Murdstone's face as she heard it. But the manner of the speech,\nno less than the matter, was so fiery, that Miss Murdstone, without a\nword in answer, discreetly put her arm through her brother's, and walked\nhaughtily out of the cottage; my aunt remaining in the window looking\nafter them; prepared, I have no doubt, in case of the donkey's\nreappearance, to carry her threat into instant execution. No attempt at defiance being made, however, her face gradually relaxed,\nand became so pleasant, that I was emboldened to kiss and thank her;\nwhich I did with great heartiness, and with both my arms clasped round\nher neck. I then shook hands with Mr. Dick, who shook hands with me a\ngreat many times, and hailed this happy close of the proceedings with\nrepeated bursts of laughter. 'You'll consider yourself guardian, jointly with me, of this child, Mr.\nDick,' said my aunt. 'I shall be delighted,' said Mr. Dick, 'to be the guardian of David's\nson.' 'Very good,' returned my aunt, 'that's settled. I have been thinking, do\nyou know, Mr. Dick, that I might call him Trotwood?' 'Certainly, certainly. Call him Trotwood, certainly,' said Mr. Dick. 'David's son's Trotwood.' 'Trotwood Copperfield, you mean,' returned my aunt. 'Yes, to be sure. Yes. Trotwood Copperfield,' said Mr. Dick, a little\nabashed. My aunt took so kindly to the notion, that some ready-made clothes,\nwhich were purchased for me that afternoon, were marked 'Trotwood\nCopperfield', in her own handwriting, and in indelible marking-ink,\nbefore I put them on; and it was settled that all the other clothes\nwhich were ordered to be made for me (a complete outfit was bespoke that\nafternoon) should be marked in the same way. Thus I began my new life, in a new name, and with everything new about\nme. Now that the state of doubt was over, I felt, for many days,\nlike one in a dream. I never thought that I had a curious couple of\nguardians, in my aunt and Mr. Dick. I never thought of anything about\nmyself, distinctly. The two things clearest in my mind were, that a\nremoteness had come upon the old Blunderstone life--which seemed to lie\nin the haze of an immeasurable distance; and that a curtain had for ever\nfallen on my life at Murdstone and Grinby's. No one has ever raised that\ncurtain since. I have lifted it for a moment, even in this narrative,\nwith a reluctant hand, and dropped it gladly. The remembrance of that\nlife is fraught with so much pain to me, with so much mental suffering\nand want of hope, that I have never had the courage even to examine how\nlong I was doomed to lead it. Whether it lasted for a year, or more, or\nless, I do not know. I only know that it was, and ceased to be; and that\nI have written, and there I leave it.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-08, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far."]
[{"question": "Summarize the content of the book I read from 2024-01-01 to 2024-01-08", "answer": "David Copperfield, Miss Betsey Trotwood, Mr. Dick, Mr. Richard Babley, Mr. Murdstone, Miss Murdstone, Mrs. Copperfield, Janet, Suffolk, Trotwood household, Memorial, King Charles the First, 1649, giant kite, handwritten pages, mental institution, guardianship, name change, Trotwood Copperfield, property inheritance, stepfather, discipline, occupation, London, bullying, domination, broken heart, friendship, eccentricity, mental illness, family abuse, suit of clothes, cottage, lawn, trespassing, breakfast, daze, veil over past, respect, hope, common sense, shared guardianship"}]