The first time I saw her, she was so young and innocent in my brother's arms; the second time I saw her was when I returned from my studies. Twelve years had passed and she was already a young girl, showing her first signs of youthfulness! And I am also in my thirties. Compared with her youth, I am so old! But I know, only I know, that I have desires for her that I shouldn't have. . .
He is my little uncle. When I was born, he returned from studying arts. When I was one year old, he returned to the villa. Not long after, he went out to travel again and came back again. It was already twelve years later. All knowledge about him comes from the descriptions of his family and servants.
The way he looked at me took my breath away. He is my uncle, isn't he? So, why does he get so angry when I call him uncle? Is it true that he doesn't like me?