David Copperfield by Charles Dickens Chapter 54 Page 43

At nine, accordingly, we went out in a little chariot, and drove to London.

We drove a long way through the streets, until we came to one of the large hospitals. Standing hard by the building was a plain hearse. The driver recognized my aunt, and, in obedience to a motion of her hand at the window, drove slowly off; we following.

‘You understand it now, Trot,’ said my aunt. ‘He is gone!’

‘Did he die in the hospital?’

‘Yes.’

She sat immovable beside me; but, again I saw the stray tears on her face.

‘He was there once before,’ said my aunt presently. ‘He was ailing a long time — a shattered, broken man, these many years. When he knew his state in this last illness, he asked them to send for me. He was sorry then. Very sorry.’