She busied herself jollily among the pots, adding a medley of herbs to flavour the broth. It steamed in its pan, just short of boiling.  (To boil it would spoil the flavour).

Its consistency was perfect, the thickness her usually surly husband adored in her soups.  Spices were added to the parsley and corriander.  A touch more salt than usual; a dash more pepper.  All of this necessary to cover the bitter tang of the fast acting poison she added last of all.

Instinctively, foolishly, she raised the ladle to her mouth and tasted.  Within minutes the soup began to boil.