He had written the cheque and passed it over to her. She took no notice whatever of it, tied the string round her parcel and put it on the table in the window. Then, still without a word, she took up her pencil and her writing-pad, and sat down to receive his dictation. This letter was dated 30th April, 1876. I will give here as much of it as concerns the public: 鈥淚 wish you to accept as a gift from me, given you now, the accompanying pages which contain a memoir of my life. My intention is that they shall be published after my death, and be edited by you. But I leave it altogether to your discretion whether to publish or to suppress the work 鈥?and also to your discretion whether any part or what part shall be omitted. But I would not wish that anything should be added to the memoir. If you wish to say any word as from yourself, let it be done in the shape of a preface or introductory chapter.鈥?At the end there is a postscript: 鈥淭he publication, if made at all, should be effected as soon as possible after my death.鈥?My father died on the 6th of December, 1882. 排列三206期专家荐号 He had written the cheque and passed it over to her. She took no notice whatever of it, tied the string round her parcel and put it on the table in the window. Then, still without a word, she took up her pencil and her writing-pad, and sat down to receive his dictation. 鈥楽he said something about the British Museum Library that I did not understand,鈥?she said. 鈥淵ours to the last, We never leave an item hanging. We will make a decision in that meeting even if it's wrong, andsometimes it is. But when the people come out of that room, you would be hard-pressed to tell whichones oppose it and which ones are for it. And once we've made that decision on Friday, we expect it tobe acted on in all the stores on Saturday. What we guard against around here is people saying, 'Let'sthink about it.' We make a decision. Then we act on it."Once these regional managers have come back on Thursdays, we load up the planes with some buyersand send them out to visit the individual stores. As we've gotten bigger, we've added on all kinds of waysto keep our buyers responsive to the store needs. These days we've got folks called regional buyers,who go around and help the store managers customize the merchandise for their own stores. My favoritebuyer program is one called Eat What You Cook. Once a quarter, every buyer has to go out to adifferent store and act as manager for a couple of days in the department he or she buys merchandise for. CLAUDE HARRIS: The young lady had exhibited a rare indifference upon the great trousseau question. She was not one of those girls whose finery is all external, and who hide rags and tatters[Pg 288] under ?sthetic colouring and Raffaelle draperies. She was too much of an artist to endure anything unseemly in her belongings, and her everyday clothes, just as they were, might have been exhibited, like a Royal trousseau, without causing any other comment than, "How nice!" "What good taste!" "What exquisite needlework!" He had written the cheque and passed it over to her. She took no notice whatever of it, tied the string round her parcel and put it on the table in the window. Then, still without a word, she took up her pencil and her writing-pad, and sat down to receive his dictation. For though during these three years I had been jolly enough, I had not been altogether happy. The hunting, the whisky punch, the rattling Irish life 鈥?of which I could write a volume of stories were this the place to tell them 鈥?were continually driving from my mind the still cherished determination to become a writer of novels. When I reached Ireland I had never put pen to paper; nor had I done so when I became engaged. And when I was married, being then twenty-nine, I had only written the first volume of my first work. This constant putting off of the day of work was a great sorrow to me. I certainly had not been idle in my new berth. I had learned my work, so that every one concerned knew that it was safe in my hands; and I held a position altogether the reverse of that in which I was always trembling while I remained in London. But that did not suffice 鈥?did not nearly suffice. I still felt that there might be a career before me, if I could only bring myself to begin the work. I do not think I much doubted my own intellectual sufficiency for the writing of a readable novel. What I did doubt was my own industry, and the chances of the market.