| 完形填空 | ||||
 Every year on my birthday, from the time I turned twelve, a white gardenia was delivered to my house. No card came with it. Calls to the flower shop were not 1 at all. After a while I stopped trying to 2 the sender’s name and just delighted in the beautiful white flower in soft pink paper. However, I never 3 imagining who the giver might be. Some of my happiest 4 were spent daydreaming about the sender. My mother encouraged these imaginings. She’d ask me if there was someone for whom I had shown special 5 . Perhaps it was the old man across the street whose mail I’d delivered during the winter. As a girl, though, I had more fun imagining that it might be a 6 I had run into. One month before my graduation, my father died. I felt so sad that I became completely 7 in my upcoming graduation dance, and I didn’t 8 if I had a new dress or not. But my mother, despite her own sadness, would not let me 9 any of those things. She wanted her children not only to be lovable but to feel 10 . In truth, my mother wanted her children to see 11 much like the gardenia -lovely, strong and perfect with perhaps a bit of mystery (神秘). My mother died ten days after I was married. I was twenty-two years old. That was the year the gardenia stopped 12 . | ||||
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