请阅读Passage 1，完成第21—25小题。 Passage 1 Every year on my birthday，from the time I turned l2，a white gardenia(栀子花)was delivered to my house in Bethesda，MD．No card or note eanle with it．Calls to the florist wel．e al-ways in Vain—it was a cash purchase．After a while I stopped trying to discover the sender’s identi．ty and just delighted in the beauty and heady perfume of that one magical，perfect white flower nes．tied in soft pink tissue paper． But I never stopped imagining who the anonymous giver might be．Some of my happiest mo-ments were spent daydreaming about someone wonderful and exciting but too shy or eccentric tomake known his or her identity． My mother contributed to these imaginings．She’d ask me if there was someone for whom I had done a special kindness who might be showing appreciation．Perhaps the neighbor l’d helped when she was unloading a car full of groceries．Or maybe it was the old man across the street whose mail I retrieved during the winter so he wouldn’t have to venture down his icy steps．As a ager，though．I had more fun speculating that it might be a boy I had a crush on or one who had noticed me even though I didn’t know him． When l was 17，a boy broke my heart．The night he called for the last time．I cried myself tosleep．When I awoke in the mornin9，there was a messagescribbled on my mirror in red lipstick： “Heartily know，when half-gods 90，the gods arrive．”I thought about that quotation from Emerson for a long time，and until my heart healed。I left it where my mother had written it．When I finally went to get the glass cleaner，my mother knew everything was all right again． I don’t remember ever slamming my door in anger at her and shoutin9，“You just don’t under-stand!”Because she did understand． One month before my high-school graduation，my father died of a heart attack．My feelings ranged from grief to abandonment，fear and overwhelming anger that my dad was missing some of the most important s in my life．I became completely uninterested in my upcoming graduation，tlle senior．class play and the prom．But my mother，in the midst of her own grief，would not hear of my skipping any of those things． The day before my father died，my mother and I had gone shopping for a prom dress．We’d found a spectacular one，with yards and yards of dotted swiss in red，white and blue．It made me feel like Scarlet 0’Hara，but it was the wrong size．When my father died，I forgot about the dress． My mother didn’t．The day before the prom．I found that dress—in the right size--dd ma-jestically over the living—room sofa．It had just been delivered，still in the box．It was presented to me--beautifully，artistically，lovingly．I didn’t care if I had a new dress or not．But my mother did． She wanted her children to feel loved and lovable，creative and imaginafive，imbued with a sense that there was magic in the world and beauty even in the face of adversity．In truth，my mother wanted her children to see themselves much like the gardenia--lovely，strong and perfect--with an aura of magic and perhaps a bit of mystery． My mother died ten days after l was married．1 was 22．That was the year the gardenias stopped coming． Which of the following is NOT mentioned by the author as a likely giver of the flower．9