And then I remembered: one of my former tutors was working at Sotherby’s in New Bond Street. He was supposed to be a bit of a Picasso expert. &#...216;I suppose I could give Mark a call. He seems to know a thing or two about Picasso’s works.’‘Would you?’ Mrs Hattersley said. ‘You know … if you think it might be worth it.’We got the number; I phoned; and the woman who took my call said that Mark was there, but that he was with a client at present.. .. trying to kill her?! She wanted to laugh at how ridiculous that concept was. He was her savior! He was her lover!Of course she couldn’t tell people about that part. That was what seemed so unfair. He must have gone through hell. She wished he was there, with her, in bed, where she could comfort him.She lay there as memory took her mind back to the little time they’d had together, in this bed.She was lying there, just remembering the feel of his weight on her, when a little bell went off in. She then told me she had broken up with him earlier that morning. I couldn't help but wonder why the break up hadn't occurred last night, and my mind drifted to the sweet pleasures Katie's body had likely provided her thug boyfriend after he had laid me out flat.She and I ended up chatting the afternoon away. When she told me that she had to get going and do some studying, I once again laid out my argument for being her boyfriend and again put the question to her. In her sweetest voice. Please suggest a usage fee and I’ll pay you.Regards, Alan.THE ACTIONSFred, feeling betrayed and insulted, grabbed his gun (he is an American!) rushed next door and shot his neighbor dead. He returned home, poured himself a stiff drink and sat down on the sofa to reflect.Then he took out his phone and saw he had a second message from his neighbor:SECOND MESSAGEHi Fred, Alan here again. Sorry about the typo on my last text. I guess you figured it out anyway - the damned Auto-Correct changed.