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

<passage>:
The noise was too much for him. He wanted quiet—at any price. When Joseph got to the office his ears were aching from the noise of the copter and from his earplugs. Lately, every little thing seemed to and his stomach writhed with dyspepsia, and his feet hurt. Walking through the clerical office usually made him feel better. The constant clatter of typewriters and office machines gave him a sense of efficiency, of stability, an all-is-well-with-the-world feeling. He waved to a few of the more familiar employees and smiled, but of course you couldn't say hello with the continual racket. This morning, somehow, it didn't make him feel better. He supposed it was because of the song they were playing over the speakers, "Slam Bang Boom," the latest Top Hit. He hated that song. Of course the National Mental Health people said constant music had a beneficial effect on office workers, so Joseph was no one to object, even though he did wonder if anyone could ever actually listen to it over the other noise. In his own office the steady din was hardly diminished despite soundproofing, and since he was next to an outside wall he was subjected also to the noises of the city. He stood staring out of the huge window for awhile, watching the cars on the freeway and listening He turned around and got his private secretary on the viewer. She simpered at him, trying to be friendly with her dull, sunken eyes. "Betty," he told her, "I want you to make an appointment with my therapist for me this afternoon. Tell him it's just a case of nerves, though." Joseph winced. "Anybody want to see me this morning?" show you." "Let him in whenever he's ready. Otherwise, if nothing important comes up, I want you to leave me alone." "Yes, sir, certainly." She smiled again, a mechanical, automatic smile that seemed to want to be something more. Joseph switched off. That was a damn funny way of saying it , he thought. "I want you to leave me alone." As if somebody were after me. He spent about an hour on routine paperwork and then Bob Wills showed up so Joseph switched off his dictograph and let him in. "I'm afraid you'll have to make it brief, Bob," he grinned. "I've a whale of a lot of work to do, and I seem to be developing a splitting headache. Nerves, you know." "Sure, Mister Partch. I won't take a minute I just thought you'd like to have a look at the first model of our widget and get clued in on our progress so far...." "Yes, yes, just go ahead. How does the thing work?" front of it, and began tracing the wiring for Joseph. was one that had been harassing cities, industry, and particularly air-fields, for many years. Of course, every one wore earplugs—and that helped a little. And some firms had partially solved the problem were the only ones who could stand the terrific noise levels that a technological civilization forced everyone to endure. The noise from It should have been fascinating to Partch, but somehow he couldn't make He caressed the crackle-finish box fondly. "The basic gimmick works fine, though. Yesterday I took it down to a static test stand over in building 90 and had them turn on a pretty noise-level by about 25 per cent, it did. Of course, I still needed my plugs." Joseph nodded approvingly and stared vacantly into the maze of transistors and tubes. him. "In case you should want to demonstrate it to anybody." Partch became brusque. He liked Bob, but he had work to do. "Yes, I probably shall, Bob. I tell you what, why don't you just leave it here in my office and I'll look it over later, hm?" "Okay, Mr. Partch." Joseph ushered him out of the office, complimenting him profusely on the good work he was doing. Only after he was gone and Joseph was alone again behind the closed door, did he realize that he had a sudden yearning for company, for someone to talk to. Partch had Betty send him in a light lunch and he sat behind his desk nibbling the tasteless stuff without much enthusiasm. He wondered if he was getting an ulcer. Yes, he decided, he was going to have to have a long talk with Dr. Coles that afternoon. Be a pleasure to get it all off his chest, his feeling of melancholia, his latent sense of doom. Be good just to talk about it. Oh, everything was getting to him these days. He was in a rut, that was His mind turned away from the grating melody in self defense, to look Of what, after all, did Joseph Partch's life consist? He licked his fingers and thought about it. What would he do this evening after work, for instance? Why, he'd stuff his earplugs back in his inflamed ears and board the commuter's copter and ride for half an hour listening to the drumming of the rotors and the pleading of the various canned commercials played on the copter's speakers loud enough to be heard over the engine noise and through the plugs. And then when he got home, there would be the continuous yammer of his wife added to the Tri-Di set going full blast and the dull food from the automatic kitchen. And synthetic coffee and one stale cigaret. Perhaps a glass of brandy to steady his nerves if Dr. Coles approved. Partch brooded. The sense of foreboding had been submerged in the day's bomb were going to be dropped down the chimney, and you had no way of knowing when. And what would there be to do after he had finished dinner that night? Why, the same things he had been doing every night for the past fifteen years. There would be Tri-Di first of all. The loud comedians, and the musical commercials, and the loud bands, and the commercials, and the loud songs.... And every twenty minutes or so, the viewer would jangle with one of Felicia's friends calling up, and more yammering from Felicia. Perhaps there would be company that night, to play cards and sip drinks and talk and talk and talk, and never say a thing at all. There would be aircraft shaking the house now and then, and the cry of the monorail horn at intervals. And then, at last, it would be time to go to bed, and the murmur of the somnolearner orating him on the Theory of Groups all through the long night. And in the morning, he would be shocked into awareness with the clangor of the alarm clock and whatever disc jockey the clock radio happened to Joseph Partch's world was made up of sounds and noises, he decided. Why , after all, was the world of Man so noisy? It was almost as if—as if everybody were making as Partch got out of his chair and stared out the window again. There was Police whistles. All at once, Partch realized that never in his life had he experienced real quiet or solitude. That actually, he had no conception of what an Almost, it was like trying to imagine what a negation of Partch had an almost horrifying idea. Suppose.... But what would Dr. Coles say about this, Partch wondered. Oh, he had to get a grip on himself. This was silly, childish.... But looking down, he found that he had already plugged in the line cord. An almost erotic excitement began to shake Joseph's body. The sense of disaster had surged up anew, but he didn't recognize it yet. An absence of sound Joseph's hand jerked and flicked the switch. that had precipitated, unknown to him, his mood of foreboding. It came It was dark there, and the trees were thick and tall. There was no wind, the leaves were soft underfoot. And Joseph Partch was all alone, completely alone. And it was—quiet. "It is to a person as emotionally disturbed as Mr. Partch was." me is that it didn't kill Partch altogether. Good thing we got to him "Yes, you know it is was alone with that machine. Imagine— two hours of total silence!"

<question>:
How was Joseph Partch originally planning on addressing his negative feelings?

<options>:
A Having a glass of brandy
B Seeing his mental health doctor
C Running away to a secluded forest
D Socializing with friends after work

<answer>:

B