She worked with the desperate zeal of the superseded who knows that she holds her post on sufferance, the terrified tenacity of the middle-aged who feels behind her the swift-footed rivalry of youth.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.
"Stand back, Miss Quincey, if you please." And Miss Quincey stood back, flattening herself against the wall, and the procession passed her by, rosy, resonant, exulting, a triumph of life..