题目内容：
Text 6I've loved my mother's desk since I was just tall enough to see above the top of it as mothersat writing 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 ]n 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. Butas a young girl, I wanted heart-to-heart talks between mother and daughter. They never happened.And aopened between us. I was "too emotional". But she lived "on the surface".
As years passed I had my own family. I loved my mother and thanked her for our happyfamily. I wrote to her in careful words and asked her to let me know in any way she chose that shedid forgive me. I posted the letter and waited for her answer. None came. My hope turned todisappointment, then little interest and, finally, peace -- it seemed that nothing happened. I couldn'tbe sure that the letter had even got to mother. I only knew that I had written it, and I could stoptrying to make her into someone she was not.
Now the present of her desk told, as she'd never been able to, that she was pleased thatwriting was my chosen work. I cleaned the desk carefully and found some papers inside--a photoof my father and a one-page letter, folded and refolded many times. Give me an answer, my letterasks, in any way you choose. Mother, you always chose the act that speaks louder than words.
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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