摘要
The most important day I remember in all my life is the one on which my teacher,Anne Mansfield Sullivan,came to me.It was the third of March,1887,three months before I was seven years old.On the afternoon of that eventful day,I guessed vaguely from my mother's signs and from the hurrying to and fro in the house that something unusual was about to happen.I did not know what the future held of marvel or surprise for me.
