Jake had enjoyed many years, and many miles in his Austin-Healey, but now he
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 insistent. "Becky," he said in his tired voice, "I have something to
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 your mother!" "I know, sweetheart,"
whispered Becky, "now be still and let the poison work."
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