The most important day I remember in all my life is the one on which my teacher, Anne Mansfield Sullivan, came to me. I am filled with wonder when I sider the immeasurable trasts betweewo lives which it ects. It was the third of March, 1887, three months before I was seven years old.
Oernoon of that eventful day, I stood on the porch, dumb, expet. I guessed vaguely from my mothers signs and from the hurrying to and fro in the house that something unusual was about to happen, so I went to the door and waited oeps. The afternoon surated the mass of honeysuckle that covered the porch, and fell on my upturned face. My fingers lingered almost unsciously on the familiar leaves and blossoms which had just e forth to greet the sweet southern spring. I did not know what the future held of marvel or surprise for me. Anger and bitterness had preyed upon me tinually for weeks and a deep languor had succeeded this passioruggle.
Have you ever been at sea in a dense f……（内容加载失败！）
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