The Independent praised the “sharp, witty writing, packed with life and colour that bursts through in Anthea Bell's translation.”
Jane burst into tears, but Anthea, though pale and frantic, was dry-eyed.
When I went down to breakfast, Anthea and Lizette were already in the dining-room.
Anthea woke the Psammead with laborious gentleness to put the question.
Anthea Merril looked at him with suppressed apprehension in her eyes.
And there, in the midst of all the ruin, stood poor little Anthea, a most forlorn and pathetic-looking object.
Anthea looked at him again, with a spot of color in her cheek.
Anthea says the stairs were of white marble, but I am not sure.
He appeared to expect some expression of approval, and Anthea laughed.
So he tried to help Anthea, which was very good of him, but not much use to her.