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

<passage>:
by Alfred Coppel “Normality” is a myth we're all a little neurotic, and the study of neurosis has been able to classify the general types of psychosis) can be not only useful, but perhaps necessary for certain 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] his harness. A soft smile touched his lips. He was well armed there was 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 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 much stranger. He stood up and opened the window to look out into the 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 out of your head and tell them about the still waters of Korus, or the 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 it be the color of an emerald. He paused in midstream, letting the warm water riffle around his feet. the Warlord, and all the beautiful brave people. The phonograph sang with Vallee’s voice: “Cradle me where southern skies can watch me with a million eyes——” 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 The Public Relations Officer was speaking now, reading from the mimeoed 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: aim. What could Steinhart know of longing? No, he thought, I’m not being 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? Outside, the winter night lay cold and still over the Base. Floodlights 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 what did she expect——?” “That isn’t what she meant. You know that.” They rode in silence, across the dark Base, between the concrete sheds 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. “In two years.” “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. 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 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 The analyst flushed. “No.” “I didn’t think so.” “You lived pretty much in your mind when you were a child,” about the psychology of space-flight, Kim——” Kimmy saw the girls before they saw him. In their new, low waisted “Kimm-eeeee—” 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 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 “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 “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 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. 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: “ yourself, Kimmy? I worry about you so—— 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 which lived, for him, through some alchemy of the mind. He dreamed of Mars. And Steinhart: “ 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 ” She was right, of course. He [122] And time slipped by, the weeks into months the sun dwindled and earth was gone. All around him lay the stunning star-dusted night. He lay curled in the plastic womb when the ship turned. He awoke sluggishly and dragged himself into awareness. What is reality, Kimmy? 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 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! [123] Kimmmm-eeeee! 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—— he knew the man, and he knew the hills that he must reach, quickly now, or die.

<question>:
What is an example given of Kimmy's schizophrenic tendencies?

<options>:
A He believed an old faucet was a radium pistol
B His questioning of the doctor's motives
C His dreaming of his wife during the flight
D He was imperceptive of time

<answer>:

A