I honestly think that if we persist in turning out these intellectual monstrosities we shall hand over worse incompetents than Miss Quincey to the next generation." Rhoda was intrepid; all the same she reddened as she realized what a mouthpiece she had become for Bastian Cautley's theories and temper.
"My dear Rhoda, you're an intellectual monstrosity yourself." "I know.

And in another twenty years' time they'll want to get rid of _me_." "Of me too," thought the Head.

Miss Cursiter felt curiously old and worn.
She had invoked Rhoda's youth and it had risen up against her.

Influence for influence, her power was dead.
Rhoda had talked at length in the hope of postponing judgment in Miss Quincey's case; now she was anxious to get back to Miss Quincey, to escape judgment in her own.
"And how about Miss Quincey ?" she asked.
Miss Cursiter had nothing to say about Miss Quincey.

She had done with that section of her subject.