Jake was dying. His wife, Becky, was maintaining a vigil by his side. She held his fragile hand in the weak light, tears running down her face. Her praying woke him from his slumber. He looked up, pale lips moving slightly.

“Becky my darling,” he whispered.

“Hush my love,” she said. “Rest, don”t talk.”

He was insistent. “Becky,” he said in his tired voice, “I have something that I must confess.”

“There”s nothing to confess,” replied the weeping Becky, “everything”s all right, go to sleep now.”

“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 sweet one” whispered Becky, “let the poison work.

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