If someone continually lives in their memories or tries to make everything the way they were, they are living in the past. I once loved a woman who is no longer on this world, and I would do anything to be back with her. My friends all tell me that I'm living in the past, and that's where I want to be.
Yet as the orphans drove through Latinimus, and caught glimpses of the town illuminated by brief flashes of lightning, they realized that the phrase "living in the past" could just as easily be applied to anyone living in this town. It seemed straight out of ancient times; the buildings were made out of marble and limestone, with columns supporting them, and many engravings, a word which here means "words carved into rock when they might as well have been carved in paper."
Mr. Poe coughed a few times into his handkerchief, and then started speaking. Mr. Poe was never without a cold and a cough.
"Your new caregiver will meet you outside of her house. Remember to be polite, and not to cause any trouble."
"Yes, Mr. Poe," Klaus sighed, deciding not to point out that all of the trouble was not their fault but the fault of Count Olaf and his hideous theater troupe.
The car managed to stay on the road despite the darkness and storminess of the night, and pulled in front of a house that reminded Klaus of an Ancient Roman temple. Standing at the door, which was actually an archway, was an elderly woman with white hair down to her shoulders, thick glasses, and a particularly garish pink striped shirt, which seemed to glow in the dark night.
"Salvete, omnes!" said Mrs. Murus cheerily in a nasal voice, twisting her mouth into a smile.
"Uh… bonjour?" said Violet politely.
"No, that's French! I'm speaking Latin! Latin is just corrupted French! You should reply with 'Salve, Mater.' That's a good dear."
"Salve, Mater" said Klaus, politely averting his eyes from the pink striped shirt.
"Vale, Mr. Poe. That's a word which means goodbye, Mr. Poe. Goodbye, Mr. Poe." Mr. Poe waved and drove off.
"Well, you're soaked, dry up in my house and I'll get you some soup and panis. That means bread."
The Baudelaire orphans looked at each other questioningly. Mrs. Murus seemed nice, but what she completely sane? I am sad to tell you: no, she was not. Not in the least.