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

<passage>:
When everything is either restricted, confidential or top-secret, a Reader , whispered the antique clock on the first There was no sound save for the ticking—and for the pounding of He stood alone in his upstairs bedroom. His slender-boned, eight-year-old body trembling, perspiration glittering on his white wanted to sink into its deep silence, to become one with it, to escape forever from savage tongues and angry eyes. He bit his lip hard, shook his head. No. No matter what Dad might do, it wasn't right to wish— The whirling whine of a gyro-car mushroomed up from the landing platform outside. were like a web of taut-drawn wires. 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 please don't tell Daddy what I did. There was a droning, indistinct murmur. what ?" Why did you tell him, Mama? Why did you have to tell him? pictures, copies of paintings by medieval artists like Rembrandt, Van Gogh, Cezanne, Dali. The faces seemed to be mocking him. Ronnie felt bothered to smooth her clipped, creamy-brown hair as she always did when Dad was coming home. become a hostile stranger with narrowed eyes of black fire. "Is it true, Ronnie?" asked Dad. "Were you really—really reading a 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 "Go on," said Dad sternly. "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, 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 house in Washington instead of trying to commute." words were as ominous as the low growl of thunder: "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." want you to have a nice home and be respected by people." Dad puffed furiously on his cigarette. "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 Low-Confidential, Confidential, High-Confidential, Secret, Top-Secret. 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 these things secret." 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 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 giving orders instead of carrying them. Then I'll learn to read, too. That's the right way to do it." job that's not so important. Like a barber or a plumber or—" "Don't you understand? The barber and plumbing equipment corporations set up their stores and hire men to work for them. You think they'd hire a Reader? People'd say you were a spy or a subversive or that you're crazy like old man Davis." "Damn it, son, how could you even at school. Ronnie, don't you realize I'd lose my job if people knew I had a Reader for a son?" "B—but, Daddy—" Please—" A corner of Mom's mouth twitched. "David, I didn't want anything like He looked up abruptly, as if struck by a chilling new thought. "You 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 Dad interrupted: "But he'd 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." "No, dear, not yet." "Why not?" "I don't know. Ronnie seemed to like them so much. I thought that maybe tonight, after you d seen them—" "Get them, damn it. Let's burn the filthy things." 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." "Edith, I think I know why Ronnie wanted to read, why he fell into the trap so easily." fault, Edith. You've always liked old things. That clock of your great-great-grandmother's. Those old prints on the wall. That stamp collection you started for Ronnie—stamps dated way Mom's face paled. "I don't understand." 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." "No, David, no!" "You can't, David! I won't let—" 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?" Tarzan of The Apes. "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 tried to be a good wife—" "A good wife." Dad sneered. His face was so ugly that Ronnie looked away. Mom continued, "I—I learned when I was just a girl. I was young like Ronnie. You know how young people are—reckless, eager to do forbidden 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 Her words echoed in the room until absorbed by the ceaseless, ticking At last he said, "Get out." Mom stared blankly. "Get out. Both of you. You can send for your things later. I never want "I said get out !"

<question>:
Why was reading forbidden?

<options>:
A It created castes
B It turned citizens against the government, making it risky for a child of a government employee to learn to read
C It is not revealed
D It turned people away from the hard labor the government required of them

<answer>:

C