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