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

<passage>:
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Certainly I see things that aren't there and don't say what my voice says—but how can I prove that I don't have my health? When he began his talk with "You got your health, don't you?" it touched those spots inside me. That was when I did it. Why couldn't what he said have been "The best things in life are free, buddy" or "Every dog has his day, fellow" or "If at first you don't succeed, man"? No, he had to use that one line. You wouldn't blame me. Not if you believe me. lying. One day, to prove me a liar, he opened and closed the door a few times I stayed in the dark longer for lying about the light. Alone in the dark, I wouldn't have had it so bad if it wasn't for the things that came to me. They were real to me. They never touched me, but they had a little boy. He looked the way I did in the mirror. They did unpleasant things to him. Because they were real, I talked about them as if they were real, and I almost earned a bunk in the home for retarded children until I got smart enough to keep the beasts to myself. My mother hated me. I loved her, of course. I remember her smell mixed up with flowers and cookies and winter fires. I remember she hugged me on my ninth birthday. The trouble came from the notes written in my like me. We got along. I didn't watch their shifty eyes too much, or ask them what they shifted to see. They didn't talk about my screams at night. good Lord that we all are truly thankful for all that we have received. Amen." Some skin-and-bones character I didn't know struggled out of his seat, amening. I could see he had a lot to be thankful for—somewhere he had received a fix. paid any attention to me. That was pretty odd. People usually watch my every move, but a man's luck has to change sometime, doesn't it? I tried to read the numbers on the bill with my fingertips, but I couldn't. It had to be a one. Who drops anything but a one into a Skid The next time I glanced at the clock, it said ten minutes had gone by. My hand still wasn't free and I hadn't budged the box. "This," Brother Partridge said, "is one of the most profound experiences of my life." "People are always watching me, Brother," I said. "So now they do it even when they aren't around. I should have known it would come to that." The pipe was suddenly a weight I wanted off me. I would try robbing and a conscience." "I've got something better than a conscience," I told him. special about you, for your apprehension to come through miraculous intervention. But I can't imagine what." "I always get apprehended somehow, Brother," I said. "I'm pretty special." most of it. It was hard work on an empty stomach I wished I'd had some almost —reminded of Job. William, you are being punished for some great sin. Of that, I'm sure." "Punished for a sin? But, Brother, I've always had it like this, as long as I can remember. What kind of a sin could I have committed when I was fresh out of my crib?" "William, all I can tell you is that time means nothing in Heaven. Do you deny the transmigration of souls?" "Well," I said, "I've had no personal experience—" "Of course you have, William! Say you don't remember. Say you don't want to remember. But don't say you have no personal experience!" "And you think I'm being punished for something I did in a previous life?" He looked at me in disbelief. "What else could it be?" "I don't know," I confessed. "I certainly haven't done anything that bad in this life." "William, if you atone for this sin, perhaps the horde of locusts will lift from you." It wasn't much of a chance, but I was unused to having any at all. I shook off the dizziness of it. "By the Lord Harry, Brother, I'm going to give it a try!" I cried. pretty sure he hadn't noticed it was a twenty. And then the bill seemed to lie there, heavy, a lead weight. It would have been different if I had managed to get it out of the box myself. You know how it is. Money you haven't earned doesn't seem real to you. It was all an accident, but killing somebody is reason enough to get punished. It didn't have to be a sin in some previous life, you see. I had gotten my first job in too long, stacking boxes at the freight noises like make an example of him and do something permanent and I the point in making me suffer for it. There was a lot to be said for looking at it like that. But there was nothing to be said for telling Brother Partridge about the accident, or murder, or whatever had happened that day. matches dropping down on the floor next to his tennis shoes, and even a few grains of white stuff. But he managed to hold still enough to keep week in November last year." "We have the News , bound, for last year." with education who makes the money. I had been reading the Funk &amp Wagnalls Encyclopedia. So far I knew a lot about Mark Antony, Atomic Energy, Boron, Brussels, Catapults, Demons, and Divans. I guess I had stopped to look around at some of the titles, because the busy librarian said sharply, "Follow me." News and left me alone with It didn't take me long to find the story. The victim was a big man, because the story was on the second page of the Nov. 4 edition. I started to tear the page out, then only memorized the name and home while Walter Pidgeon and the rest wore Ivy Leagues. Maybe I would look like an eccentric executive. TV. I like beer. I like the bitterness of it. It felt like another, but I checked myself. I needed a clear head. difficulties.... I had read that a year before. The car cards on the clanking subway and the rumbling bus didn't seem nearly so interesting to me. Outside the van, a tasteful sign announced the limits of the village of Edgeway, and back inside, the monsters of my boyhood went bloomp I hadn't seen anything like them in years. The slimy, scaly beasts were slithering over the newspaper holders, modern homes breezed past the windows. I ignored the devils and concentrated on reading the withered, washed-out political posters on the telephone poles. My neck ached from holding it so stiff, staring out through the glass. More than that, I that they used to destroy when I was locked up with them in the dark. Except this was a man, scaled down to child's size. He had sort of an ugly, worried, tired, stupid look and he wore a shiny suit with a piece of a welcome mat or something for a necktie. Yeah, it was me. I really knew it all the time. eyebrow. They couldn't do anything worse to the small man than they had done to the young boy. It was sort of nostalgic watching them, but I really got bored with all that violence and killing and killing the same kill over and over. Like watching the Saturday night string of westerns in a bar. life. Always before it had been all pantomime, like Charlie Chaplin. Now I heard the sounds of it all. They say it's a bad sign when you start hearing voices. I nearly panicked, but I held myself in the seat and forced myself to be rational about it. My own voice was always saying things everybody could hear but which I didn't say. It wasn't any worse to only one who could hear other things I never said. I was as sane as I ever was. There was no doubt about that.

<question>:
Is it likely for William to have a normal life in the future?

<options>:
A yes - he knows how to take care of himself
B no - he will probably waste all of his money
C yes, if he ignores the jabberwocks
D no - he seems to have a lot of demons that will impact his life

<answer>:

D