Murphy was on his deathbed. His wife Colleen was maintaining a vigil by his side. She held his fragile
hand, tears ran down her face. Her praying roused him from his slumber. He looked up and his pale lips began to move slightly.
My darling Colleen ,' he whispered. 'Hush, my love,' she said. 'Rest. Don't talk.'
He was insistent. Colleen ,' he said in his tired voice, 'I have something I must confess to you.'
'There's nothing to confess,' replied the weeping Colleen .
'Everything's all right, go to sleep.' 'No, no. I must die in peace, Colleen . I slept with
your sister, your best friend and your mother.'
'I know,' she replied, 'That's why I poisoned you.