Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.

<passage>:
overly gaudy nor utterly drab—indicating median social level, which is confirmed by the size of his bachelor nest. Inward maps of his environment not fantastically inaccurate. Feelings reasonably meshed—at least neither volcanic nor frozen. Thoughts and values in "Except we can never be sure of that 'reasonable' part." "Of course not! Thank your stars that's the fate of his race hangs on his reactions to them. I'd be inclined to increase your suggestion by one each and add a Great." "No—at least I question the last. After all, the Great Gifts aren't as important, really, as the Big Gifts. Besides...." "Besides what? Come on, spit it out!" The Invisible Being was the bluff, blunt type. "Well," said his less hearty but unswervingly honest companion, "I'm always afraid that you'll use the granting of a Great Gift as an excuse for some sardonic trick—that you'll put a sting in its tail." What Little Gifts would you suggest?" "That's something I want to talk about. Many of the Little Gifts are already well within his race's reach, if not his. After all, they've our Gifts—three Little, two Big, and one Great?" "Yes," his Coadjutor responded resignedly. Ernie Meeker—of Chicago, Illinois, U.S. of A., Occident, Terra, Sol, Ernie blinked. After a moment, he pointed toward the center of the Ernie Meeker went home and shaved. Five days—and shaves—later, he so. "That's true, all right," Ernie agreed, trying to remember how well he though very slight uneasiness. Things should behave as you expected them to, in accordance with their flimsy souls, he told himself at the So Ernie Meeker pushed through the little slot beside the mirror and heard tinkle faintly down and away the first of the Little Gifts, the That day, Ernie felt a little sick, somehow. After dinner, he decided Ernie sat down suddenly on the toilet seat. The spoon rattled against warmer. "Ernie! Are you going to be much longer?" The knock hadn't been loud and his widowed sister's voice was more apologetic than peremptory, but he jumped, of course. Sleep refused even to flirt with Ernie, his mind was full of so many things, especially calculations involving the distance between his Ernie Meeker had discovered, inside the birthday box that was himself, the first of the Big Gifts. The trouble was that in that wee-hour, lonely bedroom, it didn't It was an abnormal, dangerous, temporary sensitivity, he told himself, generated by the excitement of the crazy discovery he'd made Ernie Meeker was not a drinking man, then. A pint had stood a week on For want of a better place, Ernie dropped the rubber tube from the Further than that, in the way of engine hygiene, Ernie's strictly vanishing letters ... "torque-twisters, translators" ... a box that talked.... At that point, simple faith came to Ernie's rescue: in the same bathroom, he had Ernie swung the hose around, flipping his thumb over the end to make Ernie felt light-headed. He decided there was enough water in the gas tank, capped it, and momentarily continued to water the lawn. "Ernie! Come on in and have breakfast!" He heeded his sister's call, telling himself it would be a good idea "to give the stuff time to mix" before testing the engine. He had divined her question and was ready with an answer. seven in the morning or after seven in the evenings. It's the law." It was the day for their monthly drive out to Wheaton to visit Uncle Fabius. On the whole, Ernie was glad his sister was in the car when he turned the key in the starter—it forced him to be calm and collected, of being blown up without first explaining to her the risk. But the motor started right up and began purring powerfully. Ernie's sister commented on it favorably. "But then how ... Ernie, didn't you once tell me the gauge doesn't "No, I'll wait for Wheaton—I know a place there I can get it cheaper," he insisted, rather lamely, he feared. His sister looked at him steadily. He settled his head between his shoulders and concentrated on driving. His feeling of excitement was spoiled, but a few minutes of silence brought it back. He thought of drivers only knew! Uncle Fabius, retired perhaps a few years too early and opinionated, Ernie chose a moment when his sister was out of the room to ask if or some usable fuel. "Who's been getting at you?" Uncle Fabius demanded sharply, to Ernie's surprise and embarrassment. "That's one of the oldest swindles. proposition, though?" With considerable difficulty, Ernie convinced his uncle that he had "just heard the story from a friend." "In that case," Uncle Fabius opined, "you can be sure some fuel-powder swindler has been getting at him . When you see him—and be sure to make that soon—tell him from me that—" and Uncle Fabius began an impassioned ninety-minute defense of big business, small business, prosperity, America, money, know-how, and a number of other institutions that defended pretty easily, so that the situation was wholly normal when Ernie's sister returned. As soon as the car pulled away from the curb on their way back to Chicago, she reminded him about the gas. that morning. He similarly retreated to driving. Stopping for a railroad crossing, he braked too hard and the car stalled. His sister grabbed his arm. "I knew that was going to happen," she said. "I knew that for some reason you lied to me when—" The motor, starting readily again, cut short her remark and Ernie didn't press his small triumph by asking her what she was about to say. To tell the truth, Ernie wasn't feeling as elated about today's From that moment, the fuel-powder became a trial to Ernie rather than a the morning for the act, but nevertheless as he was returning indoors he heard a window in Mr. Jones's house slam loudly. It unsettled him. Coming home the next day, he caught his sister and Mr. Jones consulting about something on the latter's doorsteps, which unsettled him further. He couldn't decide on a safe place to keep the box and took to carrying office and by an unhappy coincidence needed some bicarb just then for a troubled stomach. Ernie explained on the spur of the moment that he was decidedly eccentric, even butter-brained. Bill took to calling him "the sculptor." Meanwhile, besides the problem of the white powder, Ernie was having other unsettling experiences, stemming (though of course he didn't know that) from the other Gifts—and not just the Big Gift of Like many another car-owning commuter, Ernie found the traffic and During those brief, swift, crowded trips Ernie, generally looking total strangers struck up conversations almost every morning and afternoon. Ernie couldn't figure out the reason and wasn't at all sure he liked it—except for Vivian. She was the sort of girl Ernie dreamed about, improperly. Tall, blonde She worked in an office too, a fancier one than Ernie's, as he found place and then put up with his clumsy babblings on subsequent mornings was a mystery to him. He finally asked her about it in what he hoped "Well, I'll tell you then, Ernie, and I've got to admit it's something Ernie, I'm sure your knowledge of romantic novels is shamefully you, Ernie, actually have. Flashing eyes." "No, Ernie, though you're doing it now," she told him, shaking her

<question>:
What is the relationship like between Ernie and his family?

<options>:
A His sister and uncle are close with him, and they all spend time together on the holidays
B They seem to tolerate each other well enough, though there is perhaps some suspicion
C Ernie feels like an outcast in his family and seeks familial-like bonds elsewhere
D His mother is fully supportive of all his wishes, though his Uncle is very suspicious of him

<answer>:

B