Under the tawny skin was a white, white flesh, faintly veined with red; and, besides their own proper apple taste, they had a certain wild, delightful tang no orchard-grown apple ever possessed.
"The fatal apple of Eden couldn't have had a rarer flavor," commented Anne.

"But it's time we were going home.

See, it was twilight three minutes ago and now it's moonlight.

What a pity we couldn't have caught the moment of transformation.

But such moments never are caught, I suppose." "Let's go back around the marsh and home by way of Lover's Lane.