“It has kept like that, smooth and full, three months. Longer than that it is now by some days. No drying, no withering, no decay.”
“And you yourself,” said Mr. Hinchcliff, “really believe that—”
“Is the Forbidden Fruit.”
There was no mistaking the earnestness of the man’s manner and his perfect sanity. “The Fruit of Knowledge,” he said.
“Suppose it was?” said Mr. Hinchcliff, after a pause, still staring at it. “But after all,” said Mr. Hinchcliff, “it’s not my kind of knowledge—not the sort of knowledge. I mean, Adam and Eve have eaten it already.”
“We inherit their sins—not their knowledge,” said the stranger. “That would make it all clear and bright again. We should see into everything, through everything, into the deepest meaning of everything—”
“Why don’t you eat it, then?” said Mr. Hinchcliff, with an inspiration.
“I took it intending to eat it,” said the stranger. “Man has fallen. Merely to eat again could scarcely—”
“Knowledge is power,” said Mr. Hinchcliff.
“But is it happiness? I am older than you—more than twice as old. Time after time I have held this in my hand, and my heart has failed me at the thought of all that one might know, that terrible lucidity—Suppose suddenly all the world became pitilessly clear?”