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

<passage>:
A FALL OF GLASS thirty-five years overdue!" She was calculating the fine as he closed the door. Humphrey Fownes' preoccupation finally came to an end when he was one block away from his house. It was then that he realized something The weatherman was always right: The pockets of Mr. Humphrey Fownes were being picked outrageously. It was a splendid day. The temperature was a crisp 59 degrees, the that for the moment he didn't give a thought to what might be causing It should have been difficult. Under the circumstances it was a confusion of spilled letters and apologies from both sides, the postman happened along with something in her eye. They collided. She got his and take—the sole difference being that Humphrey Fownes had no idea he "What?!" huge casserole, ceaselessly patching and repairing. Humphrey Fownes strode through the puffs of falling glass still intrigued by a temperature that was always 59 degrees, by a humidity that was always 47%, by weather that was always Optimum. It was this and chemically analyzed the contents of his pockets before returning them. Two blocks away from his home a careless housewife spilled a "Are you going to make it stop or aren't you!" MacBride yelled. "You'll have to tell me what you did first!" to that of a pathologist observing for the first time a new and Lanfierre's job was to ferret out aberration. It couldn't be tolerated When he heard this Fownes plunged into the house and fought his way "What have I done?" Lanfierre asked in the monotone of shock. genuine quirks were rare and, as time went on, due partly to his own small efforts, rarer. "I'm not sure what's going to come of this," he said to Lanfierre with Lanfierre was almost proud of Humphrey Fownes. "Sometimes his house shakes they quickly reached the bottom in a wet heap. stopped and frowned. He reread what he'd just written. Then a fine robust freak came along and the others—the echoes—refused to believe it. The lieutenant was probably on the point of suggesting a blow, it would mountainous puffs of glass as he went. "Mrs. Deshazaway!" he shouted. "No, I don't need a vacation." running. The artificial sun vanished behind the mushrooming twister. Optimum temperature collapsed. "Mrs. Deshazaway! Agnes , will you marry me? Yoo-hoo!" he uses! He could be family of thirsty and clean kids, and he of his was also responsible for the dancing house—he simply hadn't right? No, The old It was replaced by an illusion. Or, as Fownes hoped it might appear, satisfactory, and, for his specific purpose, more functional, illusion. really smelled—or looked for that matter. Not to mention a moon. But then, neither did the widow. He'd have to be confident, assertive. Insist How really odd the ancients were. Seduction seemed to be an incredibly long and drawn-out process, accompanied by a considerable amount of falsification. Communication seemed virtually impossible. "No" Contrived. How about a simple, When the At the window again, he sighed. Repairs were in order. And it wasn't the first time the winds got out of line. Why didn't she marry him and save all this bother? He shut it all down and went out the front door, wondering about the rhyme of the months, about stately August and eccentric February and romantic April. April. He still didn't see the orange car parked down the street. "Men are too perishable," Mrs. Deshazaway said over dinner. "For all practical purposes I'm never going to marry again. All my husbands die." "Would you pass the beets, please?" Humphrey Fownes said. She handed him a platter of steaming red beets. "And don't look at me that way," she said. "I'm not going to marry you and if you want reasons I'll give you four of them. Andrew. Curt. Norman. And Alphonse." The widow was a passionate woman. She did everything passionately—talking, cooking, dressing. Her beets were passionately never known anyone like her. "You forgot to put salt on the potatoes," she said passionately, then went on as calmly as it was possible for her to be, to explain why she couldn't marry him. "Do you have any idea what people are saying? They're all saying I'm a cannibal! I rob "As long as there are people," he said philosophically, "there'll be worse for him." She threw up her hands. "You'd be the worst of the lot!" She left the they'll find out? "And of course when they do find out and they ask you why, Mr. Fownes, you'll tell them. No, no heroics, please! When they ask a man a to be courted and when they hear that they'll be around to ask "That won't be necessary," Fownes said with unusual force. "With all due respect to Andrew, Curt, Norman and Alphonse, I might as well state here and now I have other plans for you, Mrs. Deshazaway." "But my dear Mr. Fownes," she said, leaning across the table. "We're lost, you and I." "Not if we could leave the dome," Fownes said quietly. "That's impossible! How?" In no hurry, now that he had the widow's complete attention, Fownes it the other way around? No matter. How would you like "I see." the sleeping equinox yawns and rises because on a certain day it's long enough for his wife to get to know him ... if you can do that, Mr. Fownes ... you may call me Agnes." When Humphrey Fownes stepped out of the widow's house, there was a look of such intense abstraction on his features that Lanfierre felt a wistful desire to get out of the car and walk along with the man. It would be such a number such that all smaller numbers not having a common divisor unintelligibility. later on March 21, 1986, Ella Marshall Davidson took out the same book. that ?" "I'd say," Humphrey Fownes said, "that he ... that he recommended it to her, that one day they met in the street and he told her about this book and then they ... they went to the library together and she borrowed it and eventually, why eventually they got married." "Hah! They were brother and sister!" the librarian shouted in her parched voice, her old buckram eyes laughing with cunning. a Dorothy to an Oz. He couldn't help wondering if twisters did anything looking oddly like giants fled from their fairy tales, protesting. "Where did the old society fail?" the leader was demanding of them. He stood in the center of the room, leaning on a heavy knobbed cane. He glanced around at the group almost complacently, and waited as Humphrey said, "for lack of something. An invention! What is the one thing that the great technological societies before ours could not invent, with this problem in revolutionary dialectics. ," the leader said, aware that no one else had obtained the insight. "If a sound foreign policy can't be created the only alternative is not to have any foreign policy at all. Thus the by common consent of the governments is known as self-containment." in the ensuing discussion and then politely inquired how it might be arranged for him to get out. "Oh. All in good time, my friend. One day we shall all pick up and "And that day I'll await impatiently," Fownes replied with marvelous tact, "because it will be lonely out there for the two of us. My future wife and I have to leave now "Tell the man what he's forgotten," the leader said, walking to the far

<question>:
Who would want to fix the mistake made in the story?

<options>:
A MacBride wouldn't go into the house with Lanfierre
B Humphrey would not create the wind maker in his house
C Lanfierre would listen to MacBride in Humphrey's house
D Agnes wouldn't give Humphrey a condition for marriage

<answer>:

C