Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: May 11, 2025
And Fate or the Order of the day contrived that Miss Cursiter should always be there to witness her confusion. Nothing escaped Miss Cursiter; if her face grew tender for the young girls and the eight-year-olds, at the sight of Miss Quincey it stiffened into tolerance, cynically braced to bear.
Miss Cursiter had asked for her opinion and she should have it with a vengeance. "It's not enough to get rid of them. We ought to provide for them. Who or what do we provide for, if it comes to that? We're always talking about specialisation, and the fact is we haven't specialised enough. Don't we give the same test papers to everybody?"
At the end of her first term her position was second only to the Head. If Miss Cursiter was the will and intelligence of St. Sidwell's, Rhoda Vivian was its subtle poetry and its soul. And Miss Cursiter meant to keep her there; being a woman who made all sacrifices and demanded them.
Five-and-twenty years ago she had been arithmetic teacher, vaguely attached to the Second Division, and she was arithmetic teacher still. Miss Quincey was going on for fifty; she had out-lived the old Head, and now she was the oldest teacher there, twice as old as Miss Vivian, the new Classical Mistress, older, far older than Miss Cursiter. She had found her way into St.
She worked with the desperate zeal of the superseded who knows that she holds her post on sufferance, the terrified tenacity of the middle-aged who feels behind her the swift-footed rivalry of youth. And the more she worked the more she annoyed Miss Cursiter. So now, above all the tramping and shuffling and hissing, you heard the self-restrained and slightly metallic utterance of the Head.
Miss Cursiter bore down on her with her steady gaze, a gaze that was a menace and an appeal, and Rhoda gave a little gasp as if for breath. "I can't go any farther." "Do you realize what this means? You are not a deserter from the ranks. It is the second in command going over to the enemy."
"I shall be happy to set separate papers for each girl if you'll undertake to correct them." The more Rhoda fired the more Miss Cursiter remained cold. "That's just it we couldn't if we tried. We know nothing about each girl. That's where we shall have to specialise in the future if we're to do any good.
If Miss Cursiter had not had to consult her notes now and again, she must have seen that Rhoda Vivian's mind was wandering, that the Classical Mistress was if anything more interested in her companions than in the noble utterances of the Head.
"Another three months! What would my pupils do, and what would Miss Cursiter say?" It was part of the illusion that she conceived herself to be indispensable to Miss Cursiter. "Confound Miss Cursiter!" Evidently he felt strongly on the subject of Miss Cursiter. He confounded her with such energy that the seat provided for them by the London County Council vibrated under it.
He went on his way thinking how intolerable the question might have been in some one else's mouth; how suggestive of impertinent coquetry, the beautiful woman's assumption that he would do for her what he would not do for insignificant Miss Quincey. She had taken it for granted that his interest in Miss Quincey was supreme. Healers and Regenerators Rhoda had spoken to Miss Cursiter.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking