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

<passage>:
is in fact dangerous. It's your view of the matter that counts! There was a dizzy, sickening whirl of mental blackness—not true blackness, but a mind-enveloping darkness that was filled with the multi-colored little sparks of thoughts and memories that scattered through the darkness like tiny glowing mice, fleeing from something unknown, fleeing outwards and away toward a somewhere that was equally unknown scurrying, moving, changing—each half recognizable as it passed, but leaving only a vague impression behind. Memories were shattered into their component data bits in that maelstrom of not-quite-darkness, and scattered throughout infinity and eternity. Then the pseudo-dark stopped its violent motion and became still, no longer scattering the fleeing memories, but merely blanketing them. And slowly—ever so slowly—the powerful cohesive forces that existed between the data-bits began pulling them back together again as the the frightened little things together as they drifted back in from vast distances, trying to fit them together again in an ordered whole. Like a The process was far from complete when Broom regained consciousness. Broom sat up abruptly and looked around him. The room was totally the effect was greater than that. It was not the first time in his life he had regained it had been. But it would come back he was sure of that. but not extraordinarily so. A door in one wall led into another room of some kind. It was some sort of carpeting that covered the floor from wall to wall, but no carpet had ever felt like this. were unknown, and their shapes meaningless. And knew immediately that, no matter what it looked like, it wasn't wood. The illusion was there to the eye, but no wood ever had such a his palm and held it there. There was nothing to be afraid of! The memories were coming back. This time, he didn't try to probe for table was no more wood than the wall, and a touch of a finger to the The humming appeared to be coming from a metal box on the other side of studs. There was a loud click! in the stillness of the room, and he leaped things alone. There was no point in messing with things that undoubtedly controlled forces beyond his ability to cope with, or understand. After Time? What had Contarini said about time? Something about its being like a river that flowed rapidly—that much he remembered. Oh, yes—and that it was almost impossible to try to swim backwards against the current or ... something else. What? He had traveled in time, that much was certain, but how far, and in plain that going into the past was impossible. Then could he, Broom, get back to his own time, or was he destined to stay in this—place? Wherever and whenever it was. Evidently movement through the time-river had a tendency to disorganize a man's memories. Well, wasn't that obvious anyway? Even normal movement through time, at the rate of a day per day, made some memories fade. And some were lost entirely, while others remained clear and bright. What would a sudden jump of centuries do? would come back, and he could orient himself. Meanwhile, he might as Broom decided he might as well get a good look at whatever was outside —And gasped! It was night time outside, and the sky was clear. He recognized the impressions intelligently to his brain. What they were recording was so unfamiliar that his brain could not decode the messages they sent. everything. He forced himself to look down, and it made him dizzy. The building he was in was so high that it would have projected through the Broom backed away from the window and let the curtain close. He'd had He skirted the table with its still-humming machine and walked toward unfamiliar, outlandish clothing, but Broom had seen odder clothing in his travels. But the thing that had stopped him was the amazing reality reflecting the face of a man who stood invisibly before it. It wasn't, of course it was only a painting. But the lifelike, somber chair. Broom's footsteps sounded loud in the room, the echoes rebounding than the carpet it had a kind of queer resiliency of its own. had seen no one. The streets below had been filled with moving vehicles of some kind, but it had been difficult to tell whether there had been sleeping for hundreds of years and waking up in a strange world." Well, it was that, all right. through a door at the far end of the room—perhaps it was a way out. He they might tell him where he was. door, but it was much too tiny to be a keyhole. Still— It didn't matter. If necessary, he could smash the glass to get through door. The hallway stretched away to either side, lined with doors similar to the one he had just come through. How did a man get out of this place, this mysterious place. He had the terrible feeling that he had been drawn across time to this believing so. He stopped as another memory came back. He remembered being in the my friend. It is the mind and the mind alone that sees the flow of time. Broom outranked the little Italian, but prison can make brothers of all Broom held back a grin. "Then why, my Venetian friend, have you not left battlefield, dealing death in hand-to-hand combat, and the Italian hadn't impressed him as a coward. Some day, I may die— will die. This does not frighten me, death. I am not afraid of what men may do to me." He stopped and frowned. "But, of this, I have a great fear. Only a saint can handle such things, and I am "I hope, my dear Contarini," Broom said dryly, "that you are not under I am a saint." Broom had thought that over for a moment, then grinned. "All right, my The memory faded from Broom's mind. Had he really moved through some segment of Eternity to reach this ... this place? Had he— have taken it all so calmly. Afraid of man or devil, no—but this was neither. He had to get back. The utter alienness of this bright, shining, lifeless wonderland was too much for him. perhaps—somehow—some force would return him to where he belonged. scooped up the dish in one big hand and ran on into the room, letting the door shut itself behind him. He ran on, through the large room with the Italian had told him to do, and he could not for the life of him remember them. His memory still had gaps in it—gaps he did not know concentration, trying to bring back a memory that would not come. Broom's eyes opened, and instantly every muscle and nerve in his his clothes. He was not as tall as Broom, and he looked soft and He was saying something in a language that Broom did not understand, and Broom laughed. "You have nothing to fear from me, little man. Permit me to introduce myself. I am Richard Broom, known as—" He stopped, and his surroundings were so familiar, that the bits of memory which had been scattered again during the passage through centuries of time came back were gone. Richard Broom sat up on his palette of straw. The scene in the strange building already seemed dreamlike, but the fear was still there. "I couldn't remember," he said softly. "I couldn't remember who I was nor why I had gone to that ... that place. And when I remembered, I came back." strongly to the past—to one's own time. One must return as soon as the mind had adjusted. I am sorry, my friend I had hoped we could escape. And, nearly eight centuries away in time and thousands of miles away in he was holding that in his hand when I saw him. What? Oh. Where did he go?" Mr. Jasperson paused in his rush of words. "Well, I must have gotten a little dizzy—I was pretty shocked, you know. To be honest, I didn't see where he went. I must have fainted. "But I think you can pick him up if you hurry. With that getup on, he He cradled the phone, pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, and dabbed at his damp forehead. He was a very frightened little man, but he knew he'd get over it by morning. THE END

<question>:
How did Broom travel through time?

<options>:
A By thinking about it
B We never learn
C Contarini sent him
D It was an accident

<answer>:

A