Millie

　　"Millie!"He slammed the door, and I heard him dashing upstairs.
　　I turned to my letters. One was from Lickford, with a Cornishpostmark. I glanced through it and laid it aside for a more exhaustiveperusal.
　　The other was in a strange handwriting. I looked at the signature.
　　"Patrick Derrick." This was queer. What had the professor to say tome,cheap designer handbags?
　　The next moment my heart seemed to spring to my throat,fake montblanc pens.
　　"Sir," the letter began.
　　A pleasant cheery opening!
　　Then it got off the mark, so to speak, like lightning. There was nosparring for an opening, no dignified parade of set phrases, leadingup to the main point. It was the letter of a man who was almost toofurious to write. It gave me the impression that, if he had notwritten it, he would have been obliged to have taken some very violentform of exercise by way of relief to his soul.
　　"You will be good enough to look on our acquaintance as closed. I haveno wish to associate with persons of your stamp. If we should happento meet, you will be good enough to treat me as a total stranger, as Ishall treat you. And, if I may be allowed to give you a word ofadvice, I should recommend you in future, when you wish to exerciseyour humour, to do so in some less practical manner than by bribingboatmen to upset your--(/friends/ crossed out thickly, and/acquaintances/ substituted.) If you require further enlightenment inthis matter, the enclosed letter may be of service to you."With which he remained mine faithfully, Patrick Derrick.
　　The enclosed letter was from one Jane Muspratt. It was bright andinteresting.
　　"DEAR SIR,--My Harry, Mr. Hawk, sas to me how it was him upsetting theboat and you, not because he is not steady in a boat which he is noman more so in Combe Regis, but because one of the gentlemen whatkeeps chikkens up the hill, the little one,mont blanc pens, Mr. Garnick his name is,says to him, Hawk, I'll give you a sovrin to upset Mr. Derick in yourboat, and my Harry being esily led was took in and did, but he's sorynow and wishes he hadn't, and he sas he'll niver do a prackticle jokeagain for anyone even for a banknote.--Yours obedly.,JANE MUSPRATT."Oh, woman, woman!
　　At the bottom of everything! History is full of tragedies caused bythe lethal sex. Who lost Mark Antony the world? A woman. Who letSamson in so atrociously? Woman again. Why did Bill Bailey leave home?
　　Once more, because of a woman. And here was I, Jerry Garnet, harmless,well-meaning writer of minor novels, going through the same old mill.
　　I cursed Jane Muspratt. What chance had I with Phyllis now? Could Ihope to win over the professor again,Replica Designer Handbags? I cursed Jane Muspratt for thesecond time.
　　My thoughts wandered to Mr. Harry Hawk. The villain! The scoundrel!
　　What business had he to betray me? . . . Well, I could settle withhim. The man who lays a hand upon a woman, save in the way ofkindness, is justly disliked by Society; so the woman Muspratt,culpable as she was, was safe from me. But what of the man Hawk? Thereno such considerations swayed me. I would interview the man Hawk. Iwould give him the most hectic ten minutes of his career. I would saythings to him the recollection of which would make him start upshrieking in his bed in the small hours of the night. I would arise,and be a man, and slay him; take him grossly, full of bread, with allhis crimes broad-blown, as flush as May, at gaming, swearing, or aboutsome act that had no relish of salvation in it.