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

<passage>:
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. Being four or five, I didn't know any better, so I thought Dad made it others got money from home to buy the things they needed—razor blades, candy, sticks of tea. I got a letter from Mom or Dad every now and then before they were killed, saying they had sent money or that it was enclosed, but somehow I never got a dime of it. It was two or three years later that I skulked into Brother Partridge's Partridge didn't seem to notice me, but I knew that was an act. I knew eagle beak toward us. "Brothers, this being Thanksgiving, I pray the 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 "Brothers," Partridge went on after enjoying the interruption with a beaming smile, "you shall all be entitled to a bowl of turkey soup prepared by Sister Partridge, a generous supply of sweet rolls and , John Philip Sousa's grand old patriotic song." I had to laugh at all those bums clattering the chairs in front of me, scampering after water soup and stale bread. As soon as I got cleaned up, I was going to have dinner in a good restaurant, and I was going to order such expensive food and leave such a large tip for the waiter and send one to the chef that they were going to think I was rich, and some executive with some brokerage firm would see me and say to himself, "Hmm, executive material. Just the type we need. I beg your pardon, sir—" just like the razor-blade comic-strip ads in the old magazines that Frankie the Pig sells three for a quarter. I was marching. Man, was I ever marching, but the secret of it was I room into the kitchen. Even Partridge made his way down from the auctioneer's stand like a vulture with a busted wing and darted through his private door. them fast with the other two. Once I dropped a dime—not a penny, I would probably lose my hold on all the coins if I tried for that one. I had all the rest. It felt like about two dollars, or close to it. Then I found the bill. A neatly folded bill in the box. Somehow I knew 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 Row collection box? But still there were tourists, slummers. They might leave a fifty or even a hundred. A hundred! I knew what the trouble was, of course. I was in a monkey trap. The monkey reaches through the hole for the bait, and when he gets it in his hot little fist, he can't get his hand out. He's too greedy to let go, so he stays there, caught as securely as if he were caged. I was a man, not a monkey. I knew why I couldn't get my hand out. But I couldn't lose that money, especially that century bill. Calm, I ordered While keeping a lookout for Partridge and somebody stepping out of the "This," Brother Partridge said, "is one of the most profound My head hinged until it lined my eyes up with Brother Partridge. The the preacher explained in wonderment. "Cold turkey," he corrected. "Are you scoffing at a miracle?" "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 "I may be able to help you," Brother Partridge said, "if you have faith Brother Partridge regarded me solemnly. "There must be something Partridge prodded me with his bony fingers as if making sure I was out my hand. The bill stuck to the sweat on my fingers and slid out along with the digits. A one, I decided. I had got into trouble for a We took a couple of camp chairs and I told him the story of my life, or of that turkey soup. Then again I was glad I hadn't. Something always After some time Sister Partridge bustled in and snapped on the overhead "Remarkable," Partridge finally said when I got so hoarse I had to take "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. "I believe you," Partridge said, surprised at himself. lightly and a box with no top slid out of the slightly larger box. He reached in, fished out the bill and presented it to me. "Perhaps this will help in your atonement," he said. I crumpled it into my pocket fast. Not meaning to sound ungrateful, I'm 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. Brother Partridge's money, I killed a man. "Application?" "No," I said. "I'm just helping out during Christmas." "You're a scab, buddy," Long-legs said. "Don't you read the papers?" "I don't like comic strips," I said. They sighed. I think they hated to do it, but I was bucking the system. and I squirmed away across the rubbish like a polite mouse. Brother Partridge about the accident, or murder, or whatever had Searching myself after I left Brother Partridge, I finally found a She sniffed and told me to follow her. I didn't rate a cart to my table, I guess, or else the bound papers weren't supposed to come out I heard my voice say, "A pleasure. What about after work?" I went to a dry-cleaner, not the cheapest place I knew, because I wouldn't be safe with the change from a twenty in that neighborhood. had sleep on Thanksgiving, bracing up for trying the lift at Brother Partridge's. Let's see, it was daylight outside again, so this was the day after Thanksgiving. But it had only been sixteen or twenty hours since I had slept. That was enough. I left the money on the counter for the hamburgers and coffee and the beer. There was $7.68 left. As I passed the counterman's friend on his stool, my voice said, "I He turned slowly, his jaw moving further away from his brain. I winked. "It was just a bet for me to say that to you. I won two bucks. Half of it is yours." I held out the bill to him. His paw closed over the money and punched me on the biceps. Too hard. He winked back. "It's okay." I rubbed my shoulder, marching off fast, and I counted my money. With my luck, I might have given the counterman's friend the five instead of one of the singles. But I hadn't. I now had $6.68 left. "I

<question>:
How does the narrator respond to Brother Partridge's gift offering on Thanksgiving?

<options>:
A He believes the homeless people are stupid for falling for Brother Partridge's trick
B He believes Brother Partridge wants something from him in return for the Thanksgiving offering
C He believes Brother Partridge is attempting to poison him and the other homeless men
D He believes the homeless people are ridiculous for charging so desperately after the offering

<answer>:

D