A stream that was one in its rhythm and in the sex that was its soul, obscurely or luminously feminine; it might have been a single living thing that throbbed and undulated, as girl after girl gave out the radiance and pulsation of her youth.

The effect was overpowering; your senses judged St.Sidwell's by these brilliant types that gave life and colour to the stream.

The rest were nowhere.
So at least it seemed to Miss Cursiter, the Head.

That tall, lean, iron-grey Dignity stood at the cross junction of two corridors, talking to Miss Rhoda Vivian, the new Classical Mistress.

And while she talked she watched her girls as a general watches his columns wheeling into action.