"When the galleys of a book have been completed by the printer, and before any editor does a day's work on them, they are turned over to a specialist printing house, whose people line the galleys up in workable segments, photostat them in the present guise, and bind them together with a rubber-cement backing and an improvised cover. These are the so-called bound galleys, and distribution of them becomes a tremendous tug-of-war. The publisher always orders fewer copies than he really needs, for they are expensive, but then he tells interested parties, 'Well, I think I could squeeze one more copy from somewhere.' How many are printed? I don't know. Sixteen copies to the book clubs? Two dozen to the agent? A couple here and there sneaked out to friends? Others to key salesmen? The total must be impressive. I have never seen bound galleys of a book of mine before, and I have this copy---for they are at a premium right now---only because the specialty house bound this one backward, like a Japanese book. I am told that it went su rosa to a very important reviewer who demanded, 'What in hell goes on here?' It is the only copy of the manuscript I have now, and I am cross-eyed from trying to read it backwards."