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

<passage>:
“Normality” is a myth we're all a little neurotic, and the study of neurosis has been able to classify the general types of disturbance which are most common. And some types (providing the subject is not suffering so extreme a case as to have crossed the border into psychosis) can be not only useful, but perhaps necessary for certain kinds of work.... birch and willow, limp in the evening quiet, and the taste of smouldering leaves.... Roost and Patches and Seventh Heaven, but to Kimmy it was the hated cry Kimmy shifted the heavy Martian pistol into his left hand and checked his harness. A soft smile touched his lips. He was well armed hadn’t had to give up smoking. He could almost imagine the textured taste of the cigaret on his tongue. 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 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 and the grasping, blood-sucking arms—— The radium pistol’s weight made his wrist ache, but he clung to it tightly, knowing that he [117] could never cope with a Plant Man with a sword alone. The certainty of coming battle made him smile a little, the way 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 feel, he was thinking. And asking themselves why I want to go. 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 fair. Steinhart was only doing his job. The big clock on the back wall of the briefing shack said three fifty-five. Zero minus one hour and five minutes. Kimball looked around the room at the pale faces, the open mouths. What have I to do with you now, he thought? others, he noticed, were leaving both of them alone. “We haven’t gotten on too well, have we, Colonel?” Steinhart observed in a quiet voice. 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 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 [119] said. “It’s just some of the things——” Kimball said: “I talked too much.” “You had to.” “You were married, Kim. What happened?” Kimball, swathed in plastic, a fantastic figure not of earth, watched them wheel across the clear, deep night. “I wish you luck, Kim,” Steinhart said. “I mean impatiently. “Set up the camp and wait for the next rocket. If it comes.” “In two years,” the plastic figure said. Didn’t he know that it didn’t matter? He glanced at his watch. Zero minus fifty-six minutes. “Yes?” Disinterest in his voice now, Steinhart noted clinically. Natural under the circumstances? Or neurosis building up “Our tests showed you to be a schizoid—well-compensated, of course. You know there’s no such thing as a normal 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 Steinhart went on doggedly. “You were a solitary, a lonely child.” [120] about the psychology of space-flight, Kim——” Kimmy saw the girls before they saw him. In their new, low waisted “Kimm-eeeee—” 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!” “Kimmmm—eeee Mom’s going to be mad at you! Answer us!” “Kimmy! You come down here this instant!” alone. The plastic sac contained him, fed him and the rocket, silent now, coursed through the airless deep like a questing thought. Time was measured by the ticking of the telemeters and the timers, but Kimball slept insulated and complete. And he dreamed. 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 information back to the Base across the empty miles, across the rim of And time slipped by, the weeks into months the sun dwindled and earth He lay curled in the plastic womb when the ship turned. He awoke sluggishly and dragged himself into awareness. 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 What is reality, Kimmy? Steinhart was right, he thought vaguely. A tear streaked his cheek. He had never been so alone. scrambled down through the ship, past the empty fuel tanks and the lashed supplies. His hands were clawing desperately at the dogs of the outer valve. Suddenly the pressure jerked the hatch from his hands and he gasped at the icy air, his lungs laboring to breathe. He dropped to one knee and sucked at the thin, frigid air. His vision was cloudy and his head felt light. But there was He dropped to the sand and dug his hands into the dry powdery soil. He 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! [123] Kimmmm-eeeee!

<question>:
What aspect of Kimmy's psychological state was beneficial to the long space flight?

<options>:
A His complete lack of anxiety
B His antisocial behaviors
C His tendency to dissociate into his own imagination
D His extreme lethargy and patience

<answer>:

C