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

<passage>:
warm smell of late summer rising out of the slow water. Madrone and birch and willow, limp in the evening quiet, and the taste of smouldering leaves.... 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] there was nothing he had to fear from the Plant Men. His bare feet turned Kimball tried to see him in the black gloom. He hadn’t been asleep. It He swung his feet to the bare boards and sat for a moment, wishing he Oddly enough, he wasn’t tired. He wasn’t excited, either. And that was Then he stopped smiling and turned away from the window. It hadn’t been 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 “You’re a lonely man, Colonel Kimball——” How could you sit there with pentothal in your veins and wires running out of your head and tell them about the still waters of Korus, or the pennons flying from the twin towers of Greater Helium or the way the tiny, slanting sun gleamed at dawn through the rigging of a flyer? Kimball snapped on a light and looked at his watch. 0310. Zero minus one [117] could never cope with a Plant Man with a sword alone. The certainty of coming battle made him smile a little, the way John Carter would smile if he were here in the Valley Dor ready to attack the white Therns and their Plant Men. For a moment, Kimmy felt a thrill of apprehension. The deepening stillness of the river was closing in around him. Even the music from belong. With my friends, Tars Tarkas the great Green Jeddak, and Carter, the Warlord, and all the beautiful brave people. Kimmy’s eyes narrowed and he waded stealthily across the sacred river. That would be Matai Shang, the Father of Holy Therns—spreading his arms to the sunset and standing safely on his high balcony in the Golden Cliffs while the Plant Men gathered to attack the poor pilgrims Iss had Kimball stood now in the bright glare of the briefing shack, a strange They were thinking: Why him? Out of all the scores of 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 like wounds, red from the early morning hour and the murmuring reception of the night before in the Officers’ Club. They are wondering how 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 Kimball looked around the room at the pale faces, the open mouths. What casting laced shadows across the burning white expanses of ferroconcrete. command car with Kimball. Chance or design? Kimball wondered. The Kimball thought: He’s pale skinned and very blond. What is it that he 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 Burroughs’ books? And how many remembered now that the Thern priests all wore yellow wings and a circlet of gold with some fantastic jewel on Kimball had had to give them up because of the flight. Kimball caught Kimball said: “I talked too much.” Kimball shrugged. “It didn’t work. She was a fine girl—but she Kimball, swathed in plastic, a fantastic figure not of earth, watched “Thanks.” Vaguely, as though from across a deep and widening gulf. “What will you do?” “You know the answers as well as I,” the Colonel said impatiently. “Set up the camp and wait for the next rocket. If it comes.” clinically. Natural under the circumstances? Or neurosis building up already? human being. We all symptoms are an overly active imagination and in some cases an inability Kimball turned to regard the psych “You lived pretty much in your mind when you were a child,” Steinhart went on doggedly. “You were a solitary, a lonely Kimball was watching the sky again. Silence. The rumble of the tires on the packed sand of the road, the Kimball nodded absently, wishing the man would be quiet. Mars, a dull rusty point of light low on the horizon, seemed to beckon. They topped the last hillock and dropped down into the lighted bowl of They were his sisters, Rose and Margaret. Older than he at fifteen and He knew he should answer them, but he did not. Behind him he could hear the awful Plant Men approaching. He shivered with delicious horror. He stood very still, listening to his sisters talking, letting their “Where is that little brat, anyway?” “He always wanders off just at dinnertime and then we have to find 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 for barricades and weaving a flashing pattern of skillful swords in the shifting light of the two moons. [121] “Kimmmm—eeee Mom’s going to be mad at you! Answer us!” If only Tars Tarkas would come now. If only the great Green Jeddak would come splashing across the stream on his huge thoat, his two swords clashing—— “He’s up there in that clump of willows—hiding!” He walked slowly out of the willows, stumbling a little over the rocks. He lay like an embryo in the viscera of the ship, protected and quite alone. The plastic sac contained him, fed him And he dreamed. He dreamed of that summer when the river lay still and deep under the as he remembered them through the eyes of a nine-year-old—— ” And his sisters: “ Playing with his wooden swords and his radium pistol and never wanting to take his nose out of those awful books—— ” which lived, for him, through some alchemy of the mind. He dreamed of He awoke seldom. His tasks were simple. The plastic sac and the tender He dreamed of his wife. “ He lay curled in the plastic womb when the ship turned. He awoke There was skill in his hands. He righted the rocket, balanced it. Began the tricky task of landing. It took all of his talent, all of his training. Ponderously, the ship settled into the iron sand slowly, the internal fires died. Kimball stood in the control room, his heart pounding. Slowly, the ports scrambled down through the ship, past the empty fuel tanks and the lashed supplies. His hands were clawing desperately at the dogs of the A shadowy cavalcade. Strange monstrous men on fantastic war-mounts, long spears and fluttering pennons. Huge golden chariots with scythes flashing on the circling hubs and armored giants, the figments of a long remembered dream—— He dropped to the sand and dug his hands into the dry powdery soil. He A huge green warrior on a gray monster of a thoat was beckoning to him. Pointing toward the low hills on the oddly near horizon. The voice was thin and distant on the icy wind. Kimball knew that voice. He knew it from long ago in the Valley Dor, from the shores of the Lost Sea of Korus where the tideless waters lay black and deep—— or die. They were the hills of home. Transcriber’s Note and Errata

<question>:
What did Kimball like to do when he was a boy?

<options>:
A Smoke cigarets.
B Read.
C Play with his sisters.
D Fight Therns.

<answer>:

B