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I’ve loved my mother’s desk since I was just tall enough to see above the top of it as Mother sat doing letters. Standing by her chair, looking at the ink bottle, pens, and white paper, I decided that the act of writing must be the most wonderful thing in the world.【来源:21·世纪·教育·网】
Years later, during her final illness, Mother kept different things for my sister and brother. “But the desk,” she said again, “is for Elizabeth.”2-1-c-n-j-y
I never saw her angry, never saw her cry, I knew she loved me; she showed it in action. But as a young girl, I wanted heart-to-heart talks between mother and daughter. It never happened. And a gulf opened between us. I was “too emotional”. But she lived “on the surface”. As years passed and I had my own family, I loved my mother and thanked her for our happy family. I wrote to her in careful words and asked her to let me know in any way if she chose that she did forgive me. I posted the letter and waited for her answer. None came. My hope turned to disappointment, then little interest and, finally, peace—it seemed that nothing happened. I couldn't be sure the letter had even got to Mother. I only knew that I had written it, and I could stop trying to make her into someone she was not.21*cnjy*com
Now the present of her desk told me, as she'd never been able to, that she was pleased that writing was my chosen work. I cleaned the desk carefully and found some papers insid
  • 试卷类型:期末试卷
  • 资料版本:外研版
  • 适用地区:黑龙江哈尔滨市
  • 文件大小:145.78KB