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

<passage>:
Westover got a shock when he stumbled onto the monster, for all that he flood, and behind him, too, the rising water he had barely escaped. The He had not sought in his mind for the flood's cause, but had merely it the bare ledge-rock of a stripped hillside until he stepped into a the slime that covered a surface faintly, horrifyingly resilient. He recoiled as if seared, and retreated, slithering in the muck. For the monster's body had formed an Westover stood motionless in the blackness moon through a rift of the cloud blanket brought him awake nights without stopping came to his rescue. Westover plodded forward, the monster's foot, and sought above him with upstretched hands—found but he could hear the wash and chuckle of the flood below. His tired brain told him treacherously: "I'm already asleep—this is a nightmare." Once, listening to that insidious voice, he slipped and for instants hung dizzily by his hands, and for some himself, gasping and quivering, to comparative safety on the broad steep that rose to the summit of the monster's humped back, a mountain to be climbed. Westover felt poignantly that his exhausted body could He lay in a state between waking and dreaming, high on the monster's Westover had been one of the men who, in the days when humanity was Westover no longer saw the murky moonlight, the far faint glitter of the flood or the slope of the living mountain. He saw, as he had seen below, and beneath the black cloud something that writhed and flowed sluggishly in a cyclopean death agony. That picture dissolved, and was replaced by the face of a man—one who might now be alive or dead, elsewhere in the chaos of a desolated planet. It was an ordinary face, roundish, spectacled, but etched now by tragedy the voice that went with it was flat, unemotional, pedantic. "There are so many of them, and we've destroyed so few—and to kill those few took our mightiest weapons. Examination of the ones that have been killed discloses the reason why ordinary projectiles and bombs and poisons are ineffective against them—apart, that is, from the chief reason of sheer size. The creatures are so loosely organized that a of civilization, and the end will be far more terrible than if we were all devoured by the monsters." Westover awoke, feeling himself bathed by the cold sweat of Even as Westover began frantically climbing, out of that lightening this—would not live long. For a man like Westover, who had been a scientist, it was not the prospect of death that was most crushing, but the death blow to his human pride, the star-storming pride of mind and will—defeated by sheer bulk and mindless hunger. Near the crest of the monster's back, he stumbled and fell hands and He could stay where he was unharmed, of course. On the monster's back, Again he lay half conscious, in a lethargy that unchecked must grow steadily deeper until death. Isolated thoughts floated through his head. It occurred to him that he was now ideally located to conduct the experiments necessary to prove his theory of how to destroy the With a struggle Westover roused himself, first sitting up, then swaying to his feet, frowning with the effort to look sanely at the terrible thing's surface round about. Westover laughed wildly with a sudden like a flea, he had lodged on a larger animal and was about to nourish himself from it. The slabs of flesh he had cut off were gray and unappetizing, but he knew from the studies he had helped on a dog. The monster crawled by day and rested by night lay torpidly drowsing, lulled by the long sway, arms over his head to before he recognized the wrongness, and when he did he sat bolt upright. steady, ravenous march to the east. But there was no motion the great living expanse lay still around him. He wondered wildly if it was dead. Westover's mind was beginning to function again were. The scientists had found, in the burst bodies of the Titans that had been killed by atomic bombs, the answer to the riddle of The monster on which Westover had been living as a parasite was of the sea. While he slept the monster had crept beyond the coast of the days he had been on the monster's back, but the rape of Earth Westover sat for a space with head in hands, hearing the faint continuing murmurs from below. And he remembered the voices. He had been hearing them again as he awoke—the distant muffled voices sometimes in the hot middays had spoken clearly in his ear and even He paused to listen with fierce intentness, and heard nothing but the faint eructations deep inside the monster. Then he sprang to his feet, gripping his hand-ax, and ran panting to the place where he had dug for food. His excavations tended to close and heal overnight now he went to work with vicious strokes enlarging A man stood watching him calmly—an elderly man in rusty black that smoldered behind the benign eyes, gave him the look of an ancient prophet. "Who are you?" asked Westover, breathlessly but almost without surprise. you. Arise, my son, and follow me." Westover hesitated. "I'm not just imagining you?" he appealed. Westover was still not sure that the other was more than one of the powerful specters of childhood—the Preacher, the Doctor, no doubt the Teacher next—risen to rob him of his last shreds of sanity. But he When, a few hundred yards nearer the monster's head, the other halted into utter blackness—Westover knew that both the Preacher and his own "Down here. Into the belly of Leviathan," said the old man solemnly, and Westover nodded this time with alacrity. and Westover climbed to his feet and stood, weak-kneed still, staring at a chamber carved in the veritable belly of Leviathan. The floor The Preacher stood beside him, breathing hard and mopping his forehead. told Westover better than words that there was something hugely The thaumaturge straightened, wiping his hands on his trousers as he turned with a satisfied grin on his round, spectacled face—then both he and Westover froze in dumbfounded recognition. Sutton was first to recover. He said quietly, "Welcome aboard the ark, quick eyes studied Westover's face, and he gestured toward a packing box against the wall opposite his apparatus. "Sit down. You've been "That's right," Westover sat down dizzily. "I've been aboard your ark "I stumbled onto it," Westover admitted. "I was wandering across country—my plane crashed on the way back from that South American bug hunt dreamed up by somebody who'd been reading Wells' War of the had a sure-fire way to do that—but I didn't realize then that it was too late to think of killing them off." Sutton nodded thoughtfully. "It was too late—or too early, perhaps. We'll have to talk that over." Westover finished the brief account of his coming to dwell on the monster's back. The other grinned happily. "I haven't got so far with the theory," said Westover, "but I think "Then," Westover glanced appreciatively around, "it looks like the main "For the future," put in the Preacher, who had watched benignly the when he cried to Him out of the belly of the fish." "Amen," agreed Sutton. But the gaze he fixed on Westover was oddly Westover flexed his hands involuntarily, like one who has been too Westover stared. "Why?" on the spot." "No! Of course I realize—Well, I see what you mean—I think." Westover Westover bowed his head, but he had caught a curiously expectant glint

<question>:
When Westover was on the monster the first night remembering the speech, where was the man who gave the speech?

<options>:
A Close by
B Far away in space
C Far away on Earth
D Dead

<answer>:

A