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

<passage>:
juvenile delinquent confidential or top-secret, a Reader is a very bad security risk. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Tick-de-tock, tick-de-tock , whispered the antique clock on the first eight-year-old body trembling, perspiration glittering on his white forehead. A burst of hope entered Ronnie's fear-filled eyes. Maybe something what ?" He saw that Dad and Mom were waiting for him. become a hostile stranger with narrowed eyes of black fire. book?" "Tell me all about it, son. Where did you get the book? Who taught you to read?" 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—" offer him a job. Why, the whole town knows he's a Reader!" "Well, one day after school Kenny said he'd show me something. He took five hundred books." "And I—and Mr. Davis said he'd teach me to read them if I promised not to tell anybody. So he taught me a little every day after school—oh, Dad, books are fun to read. They tell you things you can't see on the video or hear on the tapes." "How long ago did all this start? "T—two years ago." "Maybe I've never really explained things to you, Ronnie. You see, you won't always be a boy. Someday you'll have to find a way of making a living. You've only two choices: You work for the government, like I do, or for a corporation." Ronnie blinked. "Mr. Davis doesn't work for the gover'ment or for a corpor-ation." takes care of gardens for people. I want you to have more than that. I want you to have a nice home and be respected by people." "And you can't get ahead if people know you've been a Reader. That's something you can't live down. No matter how hard you try, people always stumble upon the truth." Dad cleared his throat. "You see, when you get a job, all the information you handle will have a classification. It'll be Restricted, Low-Confidential, Confidential, High-Confidential, Secret, Top-Secret. And all this information will be in writing. No matter what you do, you'll have access to some of this information at one time or another." "B—but why do these things have to be so secret?" Ronnie asked. "Because of competitors, in the case of corporations—or because of enemy nations in the case of government work. The written material you might have access to could describe secret weapons and new processes or plans for next year's advertising—maybe even a scheme for, er, liquidation of a rival. If all facts and policies were made public, there might be criticism, controversy, opposition by certain groups. The less people know about things, the better. So we have to keep all Ronnie scowled. "But if things are written down, someone has to read them, don't they?" "Sure, son. One person in ten thousand might reach the point where his corporation or bureau will teach him to read. But you prove your ability and loyalty first. By the time you're 35 or 40, they might want you to learn to read. But for young people and children—well, it just isn't done. Why, the President himself wasn't trusted to learn till he was nearly fifty!" Dad straightened his shoulders. "Look at me. I'm only 30, but I've been a messenger for Secret material already. In a few years, if things go well, I should be handling Top giving I'll learn to read, too. That's the right way to do it." hire a Reader? People'd say you were a spy or a subversive or that "Mr. Davis isn't crazy. And he isn't old. He's young, just like you, and—" "Damn it, son, how could you even of being a Reader? You've got had a Reader for a son?" this boy in a reformatory. Maybe a good memory-wash will take some of won't take your brain, just your memory for the past two years." have the mind of a six-year-old child again. He'd have to start to know what to do." 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 memory—you said that yourself. So we'll have to take him to a psychiatrist or maybe a psychoneurologist. A few short treatments—" remember how to read, unconsciously anyway. Even permi-hypnosis would wear off in time. The boy can't keep going to psychiatrists for the rest of his life." Thoughtfully he laced his fingers together. "Edith, what kind of a book was he reading?" A tremor passed through Mom's slender body. "There were three books on his bed. I'm not sure which one he was actually reading." Three of them. Did you burn them?" "No, dear, not yet." "Why not?" volumes. She put them on the hassock at Dad's feet. 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." A sudden frown contorted his dark features. Tick-de-tock, tick-de-tock , said the antique clock. "A hundred years old," he repeated. His mouth became a hard, thin line. "Edith, I think I know why Ronnie wanted to read, why he fell into the fault, Edith. You've always liked old things. "You've interested Ronnie in old things. To a child in its formative years, in a pleasant house, these things symbolize peace and security. Ronnie's been conditioned from the very time of his birth to like old things. It was natural for him to be attracted by books. And we were just too stupid to realize it." time of birth. He'll have to start life all over again." "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 still upraised, ready to strike again. new concept. He seized one of the books on the hassock. "Edith," he said crisply, "just what was Ronnie reading? What's the name of this book?" " "And the name of this?" " "Who's the author?" "And this one?" " The Wizard of Oz. " "Who wrote it?" He threw the books to the floor. He stepped backward. His face was a you can read read a book, haven't even looked at one since we were married. I've Mom continued, "I—I learned when I was just a girl. I was young like things." "You lied to me," Dad snapped. "For ten years you've lied to me. Why did you want to read, Edith? Why? " "I wanted to read," she said, her voice firm and proud, "because, as and Indians and spacemen—but sometimes you want more than that. Sometimes you want to know how people feel deep inside and how they think. And there are beautiful words and beautiful thoughts, just like then forget them. Sometimes you want to keep the words and thoughts 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 "I said get out "Yep. Mr. Davis in?" "Sure."

<question>:
What qualities does a person need before they are taught to read?

<options>:
A Lack of farming skills
B High IQ, no mechanical abilities
C Government credentials
D Status, allegiance

<answer>:

D