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I've loved my mother^ 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 more wonderful thing in the world. Years later, during her final illness, mother kept different things for my sister and brother. “But the desk，'' she'd said again, “it's for Elizabeth. ''
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.They never happened. And a gulf opened between us. I was “too emotional(易动感情的)''. But she lived “on the surface(表面)”.

As years passed I had my own family. I loved my mother and thanked he , my family. I wrote to her in careful words and asked her to let me know in any way she chose that she did forgive(原谅) me.
I posted the letter and waited for her answer. None came. My hope turned to disappointment(失望), then little interest and, finally, peace— it seemed that nothing happened. I couldn’t be sure that the letter had even got to mother. I
Give me an answer, my letter asks, in any way you choose. Mother, you always chose the act that speaks louder than words. 问题：The writer began to love her mother's desk（）.
A.after Mother died
B.before she became a writer
C.when she was a child
D.when Mother gave it to her

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