Jake was dying. His wife, Becky, was maintaining a candlelight vigil by his side. She held his fragile hand, tears running down her face.
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> Her praying roused him from his slumber; He looked up and his pale lips began to move slightly.
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> 'Becky my darling,' he whispered.
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> 'Hush my love,' she said. 'Rest, don't talk.'
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> He was insistent. 'Becky,' he said in his tired voice, 'I have something that I must confess.'
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> There's nothing to confess,' replied the weeping Becky,
> 'Everything's all right, go to sleep.'
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> 'No, no. I must die in peace, Becky. I ... I slept with your sister, your best friend, her best friend, and your mother
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>
> 'I know, sweetheart,' whispered Becky, 'let the poison work.'