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. Tick-de-tock, tick-de-tock , whispered the antique clock on the first floor of the house. 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. it wasn't right to wish— humming movement under his weight. To his left, on the wall, he caught kaleidoscopic glimpses of Mom's old pictures, copies of paintings by medieval artists like Rembrandt, Van Gogh, Cezanne, Dali. The faces seemed to be mocking him. Ronnie felt like a wounded bird falling out of the sky. 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?" Dad's fingers tightened on Ronnie's arms. "Kenny Davis!" he spat. "The boy's no good. His father never had a job in his life. Nobody'd even offer him a job. Why, the whole town knows he's a Reader!" Ronnie's voice quavered. "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, Dad, books are fun to read. They tell you things you can't see on the video or hear on the tapes." 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 "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 "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 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 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 -Secret stuff. And who knows? Maybe by the time I'm 50 I'll be giving orders instead of carrying them. Then I'll learn to read, too. That's the right way to do it." Ronnie shifted uncomfortably on the hassock. "But can't a Reader get a 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." "Mr. Davis isn't crazy. And he isn't old. He's young, just like you, sprawled on his small posterior, fresh fear etched on his thin features. "Damn it, son, how could you even think of being a Reader? You've got 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—" this boy in a reformatory. Maybe a good memory-wash will take some of the nonsense out of him!" treatments. They can do wonderful things now—permi-hypnosis, creations of artificial psychic blocks. A memory-wash would mean that Ronnie'd have the mind of a six-year-old child again. He'd have to start to school all over again." Dad returned to his chair. He buried his face in trembling hands, and 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 bottom of a cold, thick sea. Dad interrupted: "But he'd still 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." Dad groaned. " Three "Why not?" Dad gingerly turned a cover. His lips curled in disgust as if he were 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 trap so easily." your fault, Edith. You've always liked old things. That clock of your great-great-grandmother's. Those old prints on the back to the 1940's." Mom's face paled. "I don't understand." "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." no other way. The boy can start life over in a reformatory, with a complete memory-wash. He'll never know we existed, and he'll never 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?" " "Who's the author?" "Who wrote it?" "L. Frank Baum." He threw the books to the floor. He stepped backward. His face was a mask of combined sorrow, disbelief, and rage. " 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." Why? longer crying. A calmness entered her features, and for the first time tonight Ronnie saw no fear in her eyes. "I wanted to read," she said, her voice firm and proud, "because, as Mom stared blankly. "Get out. Both of you. You can send for your things later. I never want

<question>:
Why is it bad to be considered a Reader?

<options>:
A Readers were punished by death
B Other people were jealous of Readers
C You could not get a job as a Reader
D Reading was considered outdated and barbaric

<answer>:

C