And the magic, O Rekh-mara ?' 'These unworthy sons of a conquered nation...' began Rekh-mara.
'Nothing of the kind!' Cyril whispered angrily.
'...

of a vile and conquered nation, can make fire to spring from dry wood--in the sight of all.' 'I should jolly well like to see them do it,' said Pharaoh, just as the priest had done.
So Cyril, without more ado, did it.
'Do more magic,' said the King, with simple appreciation.
'He cannot do any more magic,' said Anthea suddenly, and all eyes were turned on her, 'because of the voice of the free people who are shouting for bread and onions and beer and a long mid-day rest.

If the people had what they wanted, he could do more.' 'A rude-spoken girl,' said Pharaoh.

'But give the dogs what they want,' he said, without turning his head.

'Let them have their rest and their extra rations.