Then one day I was summoned to Mr Lord’s office. Mr Lord was a myopic bald man with a friendly smile but everyone said he was a prick at heart. I was terrified. Mr Lord leaned back in the padded chair behind his broad desk and folded his hands in front of him.
“Well, young man, where do you think your future lies?”
    I peered as hard as I could into the future. There was absolutely nothing to be seen. But at least that provided some sort of reply.
“Dunno,” I said.
    Mr Lord nodded as if that was a most satisfactory reply. “Have you ever thought about insurance?”
    I had never thought about insurance. I wasn’t entire sure what it was except it was one of those bills that my mother never had enough money to pay—or an extortion racket according to Horrie.
“Dunno.”
“Fine business, insurance. Really going ahead. Clever young chap like you could really make a name for himself there.”
    I was reasonably sure that I already had a name.

As a small point of interest, James Bond is killed at the end of From Russia with Love. The poisoned blade secluded in Rosa Klebb’s toecap finds its mark and the book ends with his final thoughts before his collapse. Did Ian Fleming intend to kill him off after his fifth adventure, as Conan Doyle did Sherlock Holmes, or was it just a ploy? Seems unlikely. In fact this fate, being killed off and then miraculously revived, occurs commonly through series thrillers—from Callan on TV to Ripley in the Alien movies, but there are many other examples. The trend was set in the New Testament. Authors may or may not be immortal, but their characters certainly are.
   The book differs from the excellent film in only one other respect—Bond overcomes the assassin Nash not by use of Q’s briefcase trickery but because... get this... knowing Nash is a dead shot and will plug him right through the heart, Bond dives sideways at the vital moment and causes the bullet to hit the cigarette case in his breast pocket. I kid you not. Yeah, Fleming was getting sick of the character all right.