Disclaimer: My status as non-possessor of A Series of Unfortunate Events has remained unchanged, a phrase which here means "it still belongs to Daniel Handler and HarperCollins Children's Books".
Ten-year-old Violet Baudelaire ran into the library of the Baudelaire family mansion, the ends of her green hair ribbon fluttering out behind her.
"Klaus!" she cried. (The word "cried" here means not "wept copiously, the way Lemony Snicket does when remembering Beatrice", but "shouted in an excited manner", and, while it is generally a bad idea to shout inside a library, it can sometimes be forgiven if the crier is as excited as Violet was.) "Would you like to see the trylet I wrote?"
Klaus looked up from the book on Machu Picchu he was reading, and looked at his sister with an inquisitive expression. "The what?" he said.
Violet was surprised; it was very uncommon for her to know a word that Klaus didn't know. "Trylet," she said. "It's a kind of poem that goes abaaabab, where the first line has to be the same as the fourth and seventh lines, and the second line the same as the eighth."
"Oh," said Klaus. "You mean a triolet."
Violet frowned. "Tree-oh-lay?" she repeated.
"Yes," said Klaus. "It's a French word, so it has an odd pronunciation."
"Oh," said Violet, disappointed. "Well, that won't work, then." She studied the slip of paper in her hand. "Are there any other words that rhyme with my name?" she said. "I've already thought of 'pilot', but there need to be two of them."
"How about 'islet'?" Klaus suggested. "That's a fancy word for a small island."
Violet considered. "That might work," she said. "How do you spell it?"
Klaus hesitated; unlike his sister, he was not good at visualizing shapes in his mind. "May I borrow your pen and paper for a moment?" he said.
Violet handed them to him, and he wrote out the word carefully on a corner of the paper. "There you go," he said, handing the paper back to his sister.
Violet looked down at what he had written, then raised her head and stared at her brother. "You mean," she said, "that V-I-O-L-E-T rhymes with I-S-L-E-T, but not with T-R-I-O-L-E-T?"
Klaus nodded.
Violet sighed, and crumpled up the paper in her hand. "Thanks, Klaus," she said. "I'm going to go work on my pilotless helicopter some more."