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

<passage>:
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Every boy should be able to whistle, except, of course, Martians. But this one did! He seemed a very little boy to be carrying so large a butterfly net. He He came whistling. All little boys whistle. To little boys, whistling this particular little boy's whistling. Or, rather, there were two 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. he lifted his little head and stared up into my eyes. "'The Calm'," he said in a sober, little-boy voice. I blinked at him. He didn't blink back. His round little face still That pleased him. His eyes lit up and an almost-smile flirted with the corners of his small mouth. I followed him with my eyes. An unusual little boy. A most precisely little boy. 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. were still occupied, like the one into which the Martian boy had just disappeared. So his That tickling thought made me chuckle as I stood before the ramshackle instead, of something quite astonishing: How had it been possible for her to teach, and for him to whistle? All Martians are as tone-deaf as a bucket of lead. 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." Her eyes spread as though somebody had put fingers on her lids at the outside corners and then cruelly jerked them apart. to somewhere else in the house. Nowhere did I see the little boy. I "What about him?" she whispered. little boy went by me a while ago and he was whistling. He whistles been bright, moist marbles glued above her cheeks. 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 little. "Like I said before, I guess I got just plain nosy." it was, I suddenly felt that, nosy or not, I was being treated shabbily. "There isn't any Martian lady." "There has at the little boy when he told me his mother had taught him how to whistle. And then—after what seemed to me a very long while—I slowly 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." there's a lot of mixtures, you know. Some people even claim there's no such thing as a pure race. I don't know, but I guess we all started "Where's his father?" I asked. "I'm sorry. Are you all right? I mean do you get along okay and "Regular little spitfire, ain't she? I ask you now, wouldn't you think I cocked a frown of my own at him. "Wanted, isn't he?" "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. I had idly listened to a little half-breed Martian boy whistling part more than a ghoul, you don't. Not finding him wasn't especially alarming. What was alarming, though, was not finding the Earthwoman and her little half-breed Martian son when I went back to the tumbledown shack where they lived. It was Martians dig a huge circular trench and fill it with dried roots of the belu the sinuously undulating movements, and I thought, as I have often thought before, that this is the one thing the Martians can still do beautifully. Which, in a sad sort of way, is a commentary on the way "Wahanhk," he said. I watched him slip away. Wahanhk is an old Martian. I don't think any Martian before him has ever lived so long—and doubtless none after him will, either. His leathery, almost purple-black skin was rough and had a charred look the appearance of being done deliberately by a Martian sand-artist. "Good evening," I said, and sat down before him and crossed my legs. nothing. He waited. Outside, the drums throbbed, slowly at first, then the planet for such pitifully thin streams of water. "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." His teeth went together with a snap. I nodded and smiled. "You know who I'm talking about." For a long long while he didn't answer. His eyes remained unblinking on mine and if, earlier in the day, I had thought the little boy's face "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." "I have never seen this Earthman," he said. last word. I nodded. "For murder." "Murder." He spat the word. "But not for the murder of a Martian, eh? Martians are not that important any more." His old eyes hated me with an intensity I didn't relish. "You said that, old man, not I." He said at last: "I do not know where the woman is. Nor the child." He only looked at me for another dull instant and then his eyes slowly closed and his hands folded together in his lap. Being caught in a lie only bores a Martian. circle and the dancers within, and, too, I suppose, to her small son 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. Ain't that pretty? Ain't that something to make you throw back your 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 I looked down again at the woman. "Your little boy and his butterfly Next day I followed the little boy. He left the reservation in a cheery moment I stopped and stared down at the ruins. I didn't see the boy. He

<question>:
What is odd about the little boy?

<options>:
A He whistles a strange tune.
B He is carrying a fishing pole.
C His ears are small.
D He is half Martian and half human.

<answer>:

D