Sharon was on her deathbed, with her husband Martin at her side. He held her
cold hand as his silent tears streamed down his face.
"Burt," she said, weakly.
"Hush," he interrupted. "Don't talk."
But she insisted. "Martin," she continued. "I have something to confess."
"There is nothing to confess," said the weeping Martin. "It's all right.
Everything's all right."
"No, no. I must die in peace. I must confess, Martin, that I have been
unfaithful to you."
Martin stroked her hand. "Now, Sharon, don't be concerned. I know all about
it," he sobbed.
"Why else would I have poisoned you?"