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

<passage>:
vanished, leaving only the stillness of the dusk and the lonely cry of shore birds. phonograph playing in one of the summer cabins with names like Polly Ann Roost and Patches and Seventh Heaven, but to Kimmy it was the hated cry of the Father of Therns calling the dreadful Plant Men to their feast of victims borne into [116] Kimmy shifted the heavy Martian pistol into his left hand and checked Kimball tried to see him in the black gloom. He hadn’t been asleep. It would have been hard to waste this last night that way. Instead he had an easy path and what was coming up now was the hardest part. The goddam psychs were the toughest, always wanting him to bug out on the deal because of their brainwave graphs and word association tests and their Rorschach blots. “You’re a lonely man, Colonel Kimball——” “Too much imagination could be bad for this job.” How could you sit there with pentothal in your veins and wires running that madrone, Kimmy thought. Was that a Plant Man? The thick white trunk The radium pistol’s weight made his wrist ache, but he clung to it tightly, knowing that he [117] For a moment, Kimmy felt a thrill of apprehension. The deepening Kimmy’s eyes narrowed and he waded stealthily across the sacred river. sang. Kimmy stepped cautiously ashore and moved into the cover of a They were thinking: Why him? Out of all the scores of applicants—because there are always applicants for a sure-death job—and all the qualified pilots, why this one? release as though these civilians couldn’t be trusted to get the sparse information given them straight without his help, given grudgingly and without expression. [118] Kimball listened, only half aware of what was being said. He watched the On the dais nearby, listening to the PRO, but watching Kimball, sat Steinhart, the team analyst. Kimball returned his steady gaze thinking: They start out burning with desire to cure the human mind and end with the shadow of the images. The words become the fact, the therapy the aim. What could Steinhart know of longing? No, he thought, I’m not being fair. Steinhart was only doing his job. Kimball looked around the room at the pale faces, the open mouths. What have I to do with you now, he thought? command car with Kimball. Chance or design? Kimball wondered. The others, he noticed, were leaving both of them alone. Kimball thought: He’s pale skinned and very blond. What is it that he reminds me of? Shouldn’t there be a diadem on his forehead? He smiled vaguely into the rumbling night. That’s what it was. Odd that he should have forgotten. How many rocket pilots, he wondered, were weaned on Kimball had had to give them up because of the flight. Kimball caught the movement and half-smiled. “I didn’t try to kill the assignment for you, Kim,” the psych said. “It doesn’t matter now.” “No, I suppose not.” “You just didn’t think I was the man for the job.” [119] said. “It’s just some of the things——” Kimball said: “I talked too much.” “You had to.” “You wouldn’t think my secret life was so dangerous, would “You were married, Kim. What happened?” “More therapy?” “I’d like to know. This is for me.” Kimball shrugged. “It didn’t work. She was a fine girl—but she finally told me it was no go. ‘You don’t live here’ was the way she put it.” “She knew you were a career officer what did she expect——?” “That isn’t what she meant. You know that.” “Yes,” the psych said slowly. “I know that.” and the wooden barracks. Overhead, the stars like dust across the sky. Kimball, swathed in plastic, a fantastic figure not of earth, watched them wheel across the clear, deep night. should know about. Something you really should be prepared for.” “Yes?” Disinterest in his voice now, Steinhart noted clinically. Natural under the circumstances? Or neurosis building up already? human being. We all have tendencies toward one or more types of psychoses. In your case the symptoms are an overly active imagination and in some cases an inability to distinguish reality from—well, fancy.” Kimball turned to regard the psych The analyst flushed. “No.” “I didn’t think so.” “You lived pretty much in your mind when you were a child,” Steinhart went on doggedly. “You were a solitary, a lonely child.” [120] Kimball was watching the sky again. Steinhart felt futile and out of his depth. “We know so little about the psychology of space-flight, Kim——” Kimmy saw the girls before they saw him. In their new, low waisted “Kimm-eeeee—” the awful Plant Men approaching. He shivered with delicious horror. He stood very still, listening to his sisters talking, letting their voices carry down to where he hid from the dangers of the Valley Dor. “Where is that little brat, anyway?” “He always wanders off just at dinnertime and then we have to find him——” “Playing with that old faucet—” Mimicry. “‘My “Cracked—just cracked. Oh, where IS he, anyway? Kimmm-eee, you AN-swer!” Something died in him. It wasn’t a faucet, it WAS a radium pistol. He looked at his sisters with dismay. They weren’t really his sisters. They were Therns, with their yellow hair and their pale skins. He and John Carter and Tars Tarkas had fought them many times, piling their bodies “Kimmmm—eeee Mom’s going to be mad at you! Answer us!” “Kimmy! You come down here this instant!” He lay like an embryo in the viscera of the ship, protected and quite alone. The plastic sac contained him, fed him and the rocket, silent measured by the ticking of the telemeters and the timers, but Kimball slept insulated and complete. And he dreamed. He dreamed of that summer when the river lay still and deep under the hanging willows. He dreamed of his sisters, thin and angular creatures as he remembered them through the eyes of a nine-year-old—— And his mother, tall and shadowy, standing on the porch of the rented cottage and saying exasperatedly: “ Why do you run off by yourself, Kimmy? I worry about you so—— ” And his sisters: “ Playing with his wooden swords and his radium pistol and never wanting to take his nose out of those awful books—— ” He dreamed of the low, beamed ceiling of the cottage, sweltering in the heat of the summer nights and the thick longing in his throat for red hills and a sky that burned deep blue through the long, long days and What is reality, Kimmy? The hours stretched into days, the days into months. Time wasn’t. Time was a deep night and a starshot void. And dreams. He awoke seldom. His tasks were simple. The plastic sac and the tender care of the ship were more real than the routine jobs of telemetering the world. He dreamed of his wife. “ You don’t live here, Kim. ” She was right, of course. He [122] wasn’t of earth. Never had been. My love is in the sky, he thought, filled with an immense satisfaction. And time slipped by, the weeks into months the sun dwindled and earth slowly, the internal fires died. What is reality, Kimmy? Steinhart was right, he thought vaguely. A tear streaked his cheek. He had never been so alone. was something moving on could scarcely see now, for blackness was flickering at the edges of his vision and his failing heart and lungs were near collapse. Kimmm-eee! Kimmmm-eeeee!

<question>:
Why did Kimmy's wife leave him?

<options>:
A She was worried about his mental health issues
B She thought he was an extra terrestrial
C She knew he did not want to remain on Earth
D She thought he was neglectful

<answer>:

C