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
'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.'
'No, no. I must die in peace, Becky. I .... I slept with
your sister, your best friend, her best friend, and
'I know, sweetheart;' whispered Becky,
'let the poison work.'