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

<passage>:
When everything is either restricted, Tick-de-tock, tick-de-tock , whispered the antique clock on the first floor of the house. eight-year-old body trembling, perspiration glittering on his white To Ronnie, the clock seemed to be saying: Daddy's coming, Daddy's coming. The soft shadows of September twilight in this year of 2056 were seeping into the bedroom. Ronnie welcomed the fall of darkness. He wanted to sink into its deep silence, to become one with it, to escape would happen. Maybe Dad would have an accident. Maybe— He bit his lip hard, shook his head. No. No matter what Dad might do, living room. The slamming of a gyro-car door. The opening of the front door of the house. Dad's deep, happy voice echoed up the stairway: please don't tell Daddy what I did. Dad burst, "He was doing what Why did you tell him, Mama? Why did you have to tell him? To his left, on the wall, he caught kaleidoscopic glimpses of Mom's old Mom's round blue eyes were full of mist and sadness. She hadn't when Dad was coming home. And Dad, handsome in his night-black, skin-tight Pentagon uniform, had "Is it true, Ronnie?" asked Dad. "Were you really—really reading a book?" "Good Lord," Dad murmured. He took a deep breath and squatted down, "Tell me all about it, son. Where did you get the book? Who taught you Ronnie tried to keep his legs from shaking. "It was—Daddy, you won't "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 Dad grunted. "All right, son. Go ahead." "Dear," said Mom. "You promised." "Go on," said Dad sternly. "And I—and Mr. Davis said he'd teach me to read them if I promised not to tell anybody. So he taught me a little every day after school—oh, Dad, books are fun to read. They tell you things you can't see on the video or hear on the tapes." "How long ago did all this start? "T—two years ago." Dad rose, fists clenched, staring strangely at nothing. "Two years," he breathed. "I thought I had a good son, and yet for two years—" He shook his head unbelievingly. "Maybe it's my own fault. "David," said Mom, very seriously, almost as if she were praying, "it Dad strode to his easy chair by the fireplace. He sank into its "Come here, son." Dad puffed furiously on his cigarette. Dad cleared his throat. "You see, when you get a job, all the Ronnie scowled. "But if things are written down, someone has to read them, don't they?" "Sure, son. One person in ten thousand might reach the point where ability and loyalty first. By the time you're 35 or 40, they might want it just isn't done. Why, the President himself wasn't trusted to learn till he was nearly fifty!" Dad straightened his shoulders. "Look at me. I'm only 30, but I've been a messenger for Secret material already. In a few years, if things go well, I should be handling Top -Secret stuff. And who knows? Maybe by the time I'm 50 I'll be giving orders instead of carrying them. Then Ronnie shifted uncomfortably on the hassock. "But can't a Reader get a you're crazy like old man Davis." "Mr. Davis isn't crazy. And he isn't old. He's young, just like you, and—" "Damn it, son, how could you even at school. Ronnie, don't you realize I'd lose my job if people knew I had a Reader for a son?" "B—but, Daddy—" Dad jumped to his feet. "I hate to say it, Edith, but we've got to put this boy in a reformatory. Maybe a good memory-wash will take some of Ronnie suppressed a sob. "No, Daddy, don't let them take away my brain. A corner of Mom's mouth twitched. "David, I didn't want anything like have the mind of a six-year-old child again. He'd have to start to school all over again." Dad returned to his chair. He buried his face in trembling hands, and can't keep a two-year memory-wash a secret. I never thought of that before. Why, that alone would mean the end of my promotions." "There's only one solution. We can't destroy two years of Ronnie's Dad interrupted: "But he'd anyway. Even permi-hypnosis would wear off in time. The boy can't keep going to psychiatrists for the rest of his life." Thoughtfully he laced his fingers together. "Edith, what kind of a book was he reading?" 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." Dad groaned. " of them. Did you burn them?" "No, dear, not yet." tonight, after you d seen them—" "Get them, damn it. Let's burn the filthy things." 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 "What do you mean, David?" Dad nodded at the clock, and the slow, smouldering anger returned to his face. "It's fault, Edith. You've always liked old things. That clock of your great-great-grandmother's. Those old prints on the back to the 1940's." Mom's face paled. "I don't understand." Hot anger flashed in Dad's eyes. "It isn't enough to be sorry. Don't time of birth. He'll have to start life all over again." "No, David, no!" "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 "You can't, David! I won't let—" He seized one of the books on the hassock. "Edith," he said crisply, "just what was Ronnie reading? What's the name of this book?" ," said Mom through her sobs. He grabbed the second book, held it before her shimmering vision. " Mom's voice was a barely audible croak. "Who's the author?" "Who wrote it?" He threw the books to the floor. He stepped backward. His face was a read a book, haven't even looked at one since we were married. I've "You lied to me," Dad snapped. "For ten years you've lied to me. Why "I wanted to read," she said, her voice firm and proud, "because, as then forget them. Sometimes you want to keep the words and thoughts 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 was rising. Mom shivered in her thin house cloak. "Where will we go, Ronnie? Where, where—"

<question>:
When does Dad think books should have been destroyed?

<options>:
A Before 1925
B In the year 2000
C Before 1956
D In the year 2056

<answer>:

C