The kind of job I appeared to be qualified for had just been given to somebody else. There was still a place in the checking department, but The New Yorker did not, at that time, hire women in checking. Just so that they would have my name on file for something, however, Mr. Hofeller handed me a package of twelve stories, unsigned, and asked me to take a few days to write down my opinions of them. I took the stories home. I loathed them all.
