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

<passage>:
floor of the house. He stood alone in his upstairs bedroom. His slender-boned, eight-year-old body trembling, perspiration glittering on his white Daddy's coming, Daddy's coming. The soft shadows of September twilight in this year of 2056 were The whirling whine of a gyro-car mushroomed up from the landing platform outside. kitchen's Auto-Chef. The slow stride of her high heels through the living room. The slamming of a gyro-car door. The opening of the front Dad's deep, happy voice echoed up the stairway: "Hi, beautiful!" Ronnie huddled in the darkness by the half-open bedroom door. Please, Mama what ?" stumps of dead trees. " Ronnie! Come down here! " humming movement under his weight. To his left, on the wall, he caught kaleidoscopic glimpses of Mom's old pictures, copies of paintings by medieval artists like Rembrandt, Van He saw that Dad and Mom were waiting for him. when Dad was coming home. And Dad, handsome in his night-black, skin-tight Pentagon uniform, had "Tell me all about it, son. Where did you get the book? Who taught you to read?" make trouble, will you?" "This is between you and me, son. We don't care about anyone else." boy's no good. His father never had a job in his life. Nobody'd even offer him a job. Why, the whole town knows he's a Reader!" Dad grunted. "All right, son. Go ahead." "Well, one day after school Kenny said he'd show me something. He took me to his house—" "You went to that shack ? You actually—" "Dear," said Mom. "You promised." A moment of silence. Ronnie said, "He took me to his house. I met his dad. Mr. Davis is lots of fun. He has a beard and he paints pictures and he's collected almost five hundred books." Ronnie's voice quavered. "How long ago did all this start? "T—two years ago." years—" He shook his head unbelievingly. "Maybe it's my own fault. Maybe I shouldn't have come to this small town. I should have taken a house in Washington instead of trying to commute." "David," said Mom, very seriously, almost as if she were praying, "it won't be necessary to have him memory-washed, will it?" words were as ominous as the low growl of thunder: Dad strode to his easy chair by the fireplace. He sank into its "Come here, son." Ronnie followed and sat on the hassock by Dad's feet. living. You've only two choices: You work for the government, like I corpor-ation." "Mr. Davis isn't normal," Dad snapped. "He's a hermit. No decent family would let him in their house. He grows his own food and sometimes he takes care of gardens for people. I want you to have more than that. I want you to have a nice home and be respected by people." Dad puffed furiously on his cigarette. something you can't live down. No matter how hard you try, people always stumble upon the truth." Dad cleared his throat. "You see, when you get a job, all the And all this information will be in writing. No matter what you do, "B—but why do these things have to be so secret?" Ronnie asked. "Because of competitors, in the case of corporations—or because of there might be criticism, controversy, opposition by certain groups. The less people know about things, the better. So we have to keep all these things secret." them, don't they?" "Sure, son. One person in ten thousand might reach the point where his corporation or bureau will teach him to read. But you prove your ability and loyalty first. By the time you're 35 or 40, they might a messenger for Secret material already. In a few years, if things go Top set up their stores and hire men to work for them. You think they'd hire a Reader? People'd say you were a spy or a subversive or that you're crazy like old man Davis." and—" sprawled on his small posterior, fresh fear etched on his thin features. "Damn it, son, how could you even think "B—but, Daddy—" this boy in a reformatory. Maybe a good memory-wash will take some of the nonsense out of him!" school all over again." Silence settled over the room, punctuated only by the ticking of the bottom of a cold, thick sea. "David," Mom finally said. A tremor passed through Mom's slender body. "There were three books on his bed. I'm not sure which one he was actually reading." Three "Why not?" Mom went to a mahogany chest in the dining room, produced three faded volumes. She put them on the hassock at Dad's feet. Dad gingerly turned a cover. His lips curled in disgust as if he were touching a rotting corpse. "Old," he mused, "—so very old. Ironic, isn't it? Our lives are being wrecked by things that should have been destroyed and forgotten a hundred years ago." A sudden frown contorted his dark features. Tick-de-tock, tick-de-tock his face. "It's your fault, Edith. You've always liked old things. That clock of your great-great-grandmother's. Those old prints on the "You've interested Ronnie in old things. To a child in its formative years, in a pleasant house, these things symbolize peace and security. Ronnie's been conditioned from the very time of his birth to like old time of birth. He'll have to start life all over again." "And in my position I can't afford to have an eight-year-old son with the mind of a new-born baby. It's got to be Abandonment, Edith, there's no other way. The boy can start life over in a reformatory, with a complete memory-wash. He'll never know we existed, and he'll never new concept. He seized one of the books on the hassock. name of this book?" " The—The Adventures of Tom Sawyer ," said Mom through her sobs. "And the name of this?" " Tarzan of The Apes. " Mom's voice was a barely audible croak. "Who's the author?" "And this one?" " " "Who wrote it?" " !" away. Ronnie. You know how young people are—reckless, eager to do forbidden things." Why? " "I wanted to read," she said, her voice firm and proud, "because, as Ronnie said, it's fun. The video's nice, with its dancers and lovers and Indians and spacemen—but sometimes you want more than that. before you because in that way you feel that they belong to you." Her words echoed in the room until absorbed by the ceaseless, ticking clock. Mom stood straight and unashamed. Dad's gaze traveled slowly to "Get out. Both of you. You can send for your things later. I never want !" Ronnie and Mom left the house. Outside, the night was dark and a wind "Where will we go, Ronnie? Where, where—" "I know a place. Maybe we can stay there—for a little while." "A little while?" Mom echoed. Her mind seemed frozen by the cold wind. Ronnie led her through the cold, windy streets. They left the lights of the town behind them. They stumbled over a rough, dirt country road. They came to a small, rough-boarded house in the deep shadow of an eucalyptus grove. The windows of the house were like friendly eyes of warm golden light. An instant later a door opened and a small boy ran out to meet them. "Hi, Kenny." "Hi. Who's that? Your mom?" Ronnie and Mom stepped inside.

<question>:
Where does the family live?

<options>:
A In a suburb in Illinois
B In an apartment in the city
C In Washington, DC for Dad’s work
D In a small town near the countryside

<answer>:

D