There were things on the floor that looked like newts, and in the dark corners creepy, shiny things moved sluggishly, uneasily, horribly.
Robert's heart sank right into those really reliable boots of his.

Anthea and Cyril each had a private struggle with that inside disagreeableness which is part of all of us, and which is sometimes called the Old Adam--and both were victors.

Neither of them said to Robert (and both tried hard not even to think it), 'This is YOUR doing.' Anthea had the additional temptation to add, 'I told you so.' And she resisted it successfully.
'Sacrilege, and impious cheek,' said the captain of the guard to the gaoler.

'To be kept during the King's pleasure.

I expect he means to get some pleasure out of them tomorrow! He'll tickle them up!' 'Poor little kids,' said the gaoler.
'Oh, yes,' said the captain.