"Because the more it was the same thing the more it would be different. There's only one way with Latin and Greek. You must let 'em penetrate: soak 'em into yourself, get 'em into your nature slowly, through the pores of the skin."
"It sounds like sitting in a bath."
"That's just it. It's a baptism first and a bath afterwards; but the more it's a bath, the more you remember it's a baptism."
"I guess you have that right, though I don't follow," Corona admitted. "There's something in Latin makes you proud. Only yesterday I was gassing to three girls about knowing amo, amas, amat; and, next thing, you'll say, 'I'd like you to know Ovid,' and I'll say,' Mr. Ovid, I'm pleased to have met you'—like what happens in the States when you shake hands with a professor. All the same, I don't see what there is in amo, amas, amat to make the gas."
"Wait till you come to cras amet qui nunquam amavit."
"Is that what you were translating?"
"Yes."
"Then translate it for me, please."
"You shall construe for yourself. Cras means 'to-morrow.' Amet—"
"That's the present subjunctive. Let me see—'he may love.'"