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

<passage>:
tick-de-tock , whispered the antique clock on the first floor of the house. There was no sound save for the ticking—and for the pounding of Ronnie's heart. He stood alone in his upstairs bedroom. His slender-boned, eight-year-old body trembling, perspiration glittering on his white forehead. To Ronnie, the clock seemed to be saying: Daddy's coming, Daddy's coming. seeping into the bedroom. Ronnie welcomed the fall of darkness. He 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 door of the house. Dad's deep, happy voice echoed up the stairway: "Hi, beautiful!" Ronnie huddled in the darkness by the half-open bedroom door. Please, Mama , his mind cried, please don't tell Daddy what I did. There was a droning, indistinct murmur. Dad burst, "He was doing what ?" More murmuring. "I can't believe it. You really saw him?... I'll be damned." Ronnie silently closed the bedroom door. Why did you tell him, Mama? Why did you have to tell him? "Ronnie!" Dad called. Ronnie held his breath. His legs seemed as numb and nerveless as the stumps of dead trees. Ronnie! Come down here! Like an automaton, Ronnie shuffled out of his bedroom. He stepped like a wounded bird falling out of the sky. He saw that Dad and Mom were waiting for him. Mom's round blue eyes were full of mist and sadness. She hadn't bothered to smooth her clipped, creamy-brown hair as she always did when Dad was coming home. Ronnie tried to keep his legs from shaking. "It was—Daddy, you won't make trouble, will you?" "This is between you and me, son. We don't care about anyone else." "Well, it was Kenny Davis. He—" Dad's fingers tightened on Ronnie's arms. "Kenny Davis!" he spat. "The 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!" "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." "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. Maybe I shouldn't have come to this small town. I should have taken a cigarette to his lips. "Come here, son." Ronnie followed and sat on the hassock by Dad's feet. do, or for a corporation." Ronnie blinked. "Mr. Davis doesn't work for the gover'ment or for a 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 "B—but why do these things have to be so secret?" Ronnie asked. it just isn't done. Why, the President himself wasn't trusted to learn till he was nearly fifty!" "Mr. Davis isn't crazy. And he isn't old. He's young, just like you, and—" "Ronnie!" Dad's voice was knife-sharp and December-cold. Ronnie slipped off the sprawled on his small posterior, fresh fear etched on his thin features. "Damn it, son, how could you even think at school. Ronnie, don't you realize I'd lose my job if people knew I Ronnie suppressed a sob. "No, Daddy, don't let them take away my brain. this. I thought maybe Ronnie could have a few private psychiatric of artificial psychic blocks. A memory-wash would mean that Ronnie'd 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." Silence settled over the room, punctuated only by the ticking of the antique clock. All movement seemed frozen, as if the room lay at the bottom of a cold, thick sea. "David," Mom finally said. "Yes?" "There's only one solution. We can't destroy two years of Ronnie's memory—you said that yourself. So we'll have to take him to a Dad interrupted: "But he'd still his bed. I'm not sure which one he was actually reading." Dad groaned. " Three of them. Did you burn them?" "No, dear, not yet." "I don't know. Ronnie seemed to like them so much. I thought that maybe "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." "What do you mean, David?" Dad nodded at the clock, and the slow, smouldering anger returned to his face. "It's Ronnie's been conditioned from the very time of his birth to like old you see what this means? Ronnie'll have to be memory-washed back to the "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 no other way. The boy can start life over in a reformatory, with a He threw the books to the floor. He stepped backward. His face was a mask of combined sorrow, disbelief, and rage. " Why? Ronnie said, it's fun. The video's nice, with its dancers and lovers 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 Ronnie, to Mom, to the clock, back and forth. At last he said, "Get out." Mom stared blankly. "Get out. Both of you. You can send for your things later. I never want to see either of you again." "I said get out !" Ronnie and Mom left the house. Outside, the night was dark and a wind was rising. Mom shivered in her thin house cloak. "Where will we go, Ronnie? Where, where—" 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 "Hi, Kenny." "Hi. Who's that? Your mom?" "Yep. Mr. Davis in?" "Sure." And a kindly-faced, bearded young man appeared in the golden doorway, Ronnie and Mom stepped inside.

<question>:
Why did Ronnie and Mom go to the Davis house after being kicked out?

<options>:
A They needed to hide from the authorities
B They new that they would be able to read at the Davis house
C Mr. Davis had offered Ronnie a place to stay whenever
D Mr. Davis and his son had been evicted and the house was empty

<answer>:

B