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

<passage>:
warm smell of late summer rising out of the slow water. Madrone and birch and willow, limp in the evening quiet, and the taste of Roost and Patches and Seventh Heaven, but to Kimmy it was the hated cry Kimmy shifted the heavy Martian pistol into his left hand and checked nothing he had to fear from the Plant Men. His bare feet turned the base of the Golden Cliffs— The sergeant's voice cut through the pre-dawn darkness. “Oh, three hundred, Colonel.... Briefing in thirty minutes.” 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 been remembering. “All right, Sergeant,” he said. “Coming up.” He swung his feet to the bare boards and sat for a moment, wishing he hadn’t had to give up smoking. He could almost imagine the textured Oddly enough, he wasn’t tired. He wasn’t excited, either. And that was 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 tiny, slanting sun gleamed at dawn through the rigging of a flyer? Kimball snapped on a light and looked at his watch. 0310. Zero minus one fifty. He opened the steel locker and began to dress. that madrone, Kimmy thought. Was that a Plant Man? The thick white trunk For a moment, Kimmy felt a thrill of apprehension. The deepening He paused in midstream, letting the warm water riffle around his feet. 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. “Sing me to sleep, lullaby of the leaves”—the phonograph sang. Kimmy stepped cautiously ashore and moved into the cover of a clump of willows. The sky was darkening fast. Other stars were shining through. There wasn’t much time left. Kimball stood now in the bright glare of the briefing shack, a strange figure in blood-colored plastic. The representatives of the press had been handed the mimeographed releases by the PRO and now they sat in applicants—because there are always applicants for a sure-death job—and all the qualified pilots, why this one? 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 faces of the men sitting on the rows of folding chairs, saw their eyes like wounds, red from the early morning hour and the murmuring reception of the night before in the Officers’ Club. They are wondering how I feel, he was thinking. And asking themselves why I want to go. On the dais nearby, listening to the PRO, but watching Kimball, sat Steinhart, the team analyst. Kimball returned his steady gaze thinking: They start out burning with desire to cure the human mind and end with 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? casting laced shadows across the burning white expanses of ferroconcrete. As they filed out of the briefing shack, Steinhart climbed into the command car with Kimball. Chance or design? Kimball wondered. The others, he noticed, were leaving both of them alone. “I didn’t try to kill the assignment for you, Kim,” the psych said. “It doesn’t matter now.” “No, I suppose not.” said. “It’s just some of the things——” Kimball said: “I talked too much.” “You had to.” “You wouldn’t think my secret life was so dangerous, would “You were married, Kim. What happened?” “That isn’t what she meant. You know that.” “Yes,” the psych said slowly. “I 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 “What will you do?” “You know the answers as well as I,” the Colonel said impatiently. “Set up the camp and wait for the next rocket. If it comes.” “In two years.” He glanced at his watch. Zero minus fifty-six minutes. “Kim,” Steinhart said slowly. “There’s something you should know about. Something you really should be prepared for.” 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——” Silence. The rumble of the tires on the packed sand of the road, the They topped the last hillock and dropped down into the lighted bowl of Kimmy saw the girls before they saw him. In their new, low waisted middies and skirts, they looked strange and out of place standing by the “Kimm-eeeee—” down the river. “Kimmmmm—eeeeeeeeee—” “Where is that little brat, anyway?” “He always wanders off just at dinnertime and then we have to find “Cracked—just cracked. Oh, where IS he, anyway? Kimmm-eee, you [121] “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 “Kimmy! You come down here this instant!” He walked slowly out of the willows, stumbling a little over the rocks. 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 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—— 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 which lived, for him, through some alchemy of the mind. He dreamed of 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 You don’t live here, Kim. He lay curled in the plastic womb when the ship turned. He awoke sluggishly and dragged himself into awareness. training. Ponderously, the ship settled into the iron sand slowly, the internal fires died. Kimball stood in the control room, his heart pounding. Slowly, the ports What is reality, Kimmy? scrambled down through the ship, past the empty fuel tanks and the He dropped to the sand and dug his hands into the dry powdery soil. He Kimmm-eee! Kimmmm-eeeee!

<question>:
What did Kimmy do after getting dressed in the morning?

<options>:
A Walked across a river
B Boarded the rocket
C Put some music on the phonograph
D Sat through a press briefing

<answer>:

D