She tried to dismount in a little pool, but fortunately for her she noticed in time that what shone in it so silvery was not water but white-hot molten metal.
'What a nasty place,' said the Pretenderette; 'I don't know that I could have chosen a nastier place to leave that naughty child in.

He'll know who's master by the time I send to fetch him back to prison.

Here, you, get back to Polistopolis as fast as you can.

See?
Please, I mean,' she added, and then she spoke the magic word.
Philip was peeping through the bushes close by, and he heard that magic word (I dare not tell you what it is) and he saw for the first time the face of the Pretenderette.

And he trembled and shivered in his bushy lurking-place.