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

<passage>:
Every boy should be able to whistle, except, of course, Martians. But this one did! him . is as natural as breathing. However, there was something peculiar about things peculiar, but each was related to the other. The first was that he was a Martian little boy. You could be very sure of that, for Earth little boys have earlobes while Martian little boys do not—and he most certainly didn't. The second was the tune he whistled—a somehow familiar tune, but one which I should have thought not very appealing to a little boy. "Hi, there," I said when he came near enough. "What's that you're He stopped whistling and he stopped walking, both at the same time, as a house and as long as a fisherman's alibi, of pure— pure , mind you—gold. And to be a rugged individual meant to not give a damn one way or another. And to not give a damn one way or another meant to make one hell of a mess on the placid face of Mars. mother How had it been possible for her to teach, and for him to whistle? The woman who faced me may have been as young as twenty-two, but she didn't look it. That shocked look, which comes with the first validation stamp of Time itself in her wide, wise eyes. And her voice "I heard it." Her lips were curled slightly at one corner. I answered: "As a matter of fact, I don't want to see at all. I didn't know you lived here and I don't know who you are. I'm not even interested in who you are. It's the little boy who just went in here that I was interested in. The little Martian boy, I mean." I followed her. When I leaned back against the plain door, it closed "What about him?" she whispered. She said one word only: "Well?" "Nothing," I answered. "Except that Martians are supposed to be tone-deaf, aren't they? It's something lacking in their sense of hearing. So when I heard this little boy, and saw he was a Martian, and when he told me his mother Perhaps it was her eyes. Or perhaps it was the tone of her voice. Or perhaps, and more simply, it was her attitude in general. But whatever "There isn't any Martian lady." But she did, too: " I gawked at her and she stared back. And the stare she gave me was hard and at the same time curiously defiant—as though she would dare me to go on with it. As though she figured I hadn't the guts. tumbled to what she meant. Her eyes were telling me that the little Martian boy wasn't a little Martian boy at all, that he was cross-breed, a little chap who had a Martian father and a human, Earthwoman mother. It was a startling thought, for there just aren't any such mixed marriages. Or at least I had thought there weren't. Physically, spiritually, mentally, or by any other standard you can think of, compared to a human male the Martian isn't anything you'd want around the house. I finally said: "So that is why he is able to whistle." She didn't answer. Even before I spoke, her eyes had seen the correct And then she swallowed with a labored breath that went trembling down inside her. such thing as a pure race. I don't know, but I guess we all started somewhere and intermarried plenty since." I stopped. I wanted to ask her if she was starving by slow degrees and needed help. Lord knows the careworn look about her didn't show it was stiffened angrily and the words that ripped out of her mouth were not with the firewood problem, you give a woman a nice sharp axe and she complainingly: a gal which had got herself in a little jam, so to speak, would be more was one of startled surprise. I cocked a frown of my own at him. sand-blown window. That seemed to mean the woman had been watching. I to rifle through pictures. I didn't find the woman, but I did find the "So?" he said. "Wanted, isn't he?" on Earth." "No," I said. "He's right here. I just saw him." " "I didn't know who he was at first," I said. "It wasn't until I looked something which struck me as somewhat more than odd. named Harry Smythe. Understandably, Mr. Smythe did not produce himself on a silver platter. Not finding him wasn't especially alarming. What was alarming, though, was not finding the Earthwoman and her little half-breed Martian son empty. She had moved fast. She hadn't even left me a note saying ever lived so long—and doubtless none after him will, either. His leathery, almost purple-black skin was rough and had a charred look "Not necessarily," I said. "I'm not here for trouble. I know as well as "I'm looking for an Earthwoman," I said. "This particular Earthwoman took a Martian for a husband." "That is impossible," he grunted bitterly. "I would have said so, too," I agreed. "Until this afternoon, that is." His old, dried lips began to purse and wrinkle. "I met her little son," I went on. "A little semi-human boy with Martian features. Or, if you want to turn it around and look at the other side, a little Martian boy who whistles." For a long long while he didn't answer. His eyes remained unblinking on "I would like to know where she is." "Why?" His whisper was brittle. "She's not in trouble," I told him quickly. "She's not wanted. Nor her child, either. It's just that I have to talk to her." "Why?" "All right," I answered. "There wasn't anything that made me think you had. The point is that he knows the woman. It follows, naturally, that she might know him." I nodded. "For murder." "Murder." He spat the word. "But not for the murder of a Martian, eh? He said at last: "I do not know where the woman is. Nor the child." The woman never heard me approach. Her eyes were toward the flaming who was somewhere in that circle with them, whistling. She leaned "That's considered bad luck," I said. "That's a belu "Would it make any difference?" She spoke softly, but the words came to I ignored that. "Why did you pull out of that shack? I told you you had She didn't answer. "I'm looking for the man you saw me talking with this morning," I went on. "Lady, he's wanted. And this thing, on my lapel is an Authority "What man?" Her words were flat. If that meant anything to her, I couldn't tell. In the flickering light from the fires, subtle changes in expression weren't easily detected. "Why should I care about an Earthman? My husband was a Martian. And he's dead, see? Dead. Just a Martian. Not fit for anything, like all Martians. Just a bum who fell in love with an Earthwoman and had the guts to marry her. Do you understand? So somebody murdered him for it. her man. And then, suddenly, it wasn't. Even though the noise of the dance and small, thin shoulders. And I knew then the reason for old Wahanhk's bitterness when he had said to me, "But not for the murder of a Martian, eh? Martians are not She didn't answer. She didn't have to answer. My guesses can be as good frame of mind, his whistle sounding loud and clear on the thin morning he'd know it, too. And he did—but he didn't let me know he did until gentleman doesn't do that to another gentleman." "Stop following me, of course, sir." choice. And I thought I knew the reason for his going. himself of finding the killer of his daddy. whistle, sure, but a warning one. I stopped in my tracks from the shock of it. Yes, I knew from whom it

<question>:
Why is the woman suspicious of the narrator?

<options>:
A He works for law enforcement.
B He is a bounty hunter.
C He is a Martian.
D He is a human.

<answer>:

A