'There is only one tree, there is only one fruit, in your mouth.' Again she was some time silent.
'Is there ?' she said at last, with the same untouched calm.

And then in a tone of whimsical inquisitiveness: 'What fruit, Rupert ?' 'The eternal apple,' he replied in exasperation, hating his own metaphors.
'Yes,' she said.

There was a look of exhaustion about her.

For some moments there was silence.

Then, pulling herself together with a convulsed movement, Hermione resumed, in a sing-song, casual voice: 'But leaving me apart, Rupert; do you think the children are better, richer, happier, for all this knowledge; do you really think they are?
Or is it better to leave them untouched, spontaneous.