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

<passage>:
was one of the many talents bred here! I His name was Liam O'Leary and there was something stinking in his He was partly right. He would be right in the middle of it—for every O'Leary shook his head. "Let her talk, Sodaro." It said in the No mixing. That was the prescription that kept the city-state alive. There's no harm in to speak in their own behalf in disciplinary proceedings." And O'Leary a family fight—and aren't all mechanics a family, aren't all laborers a clan, aren't all clerks and office workers related by closer ties than blood or skin? But the declassed cons of the Jug were the dregs of every class and once they spread, the neat compartmentation of society was pierced. The breakout would mean riot on a bigger scale than any prison had ever known. disciplinary block help straighten her out? He rubbed his ear and warned her then that next time she'd get the Greensleeves for sure." O'Leary stopped her. "That's enough! Three days in Block O!" Captain O'Leary took a long drink of water from the fountain marked anything, she had had a better environment than O'Leary himself, and look what she had made of it. The direction of evolution is toward specialization and Man is no exception, but with the difference that his is the one species that creates its own environment in which to specialize. From the moment that clans formed, specialization began—the hunters using the weapons made by the flint-chippers, the food cooked in clay pots made by the ceramists, over fire made by the shaman who guarded the sacred flame. Civilization merely increased the extent of specialization. From the born mechanic and the man with the gift of gab, society evolved to the point of smaller contact and less communication between the specializations, until now they could understand each other on only the most basic physical necessities—and not even always then. But this was desirable, for the more specialists, the higher the degree of civilization. The ultimate should be the complete segregation of each specialization—social and genetic measures to make them breed true, because the unspecialized man is an uncivilized man, or at any rate he does not advance civilization. And letting the specializations mix would produce genetic undesirables: clerk-laborer or Professional-GI misfits, for example, being only half specialized, would be good at no specialization. And the basis of this specialization society was: "The aptitude groups are the true races of mankind." Putting it into law was only the legal enforcement of a demonstrable fact. touched his cap as O'Leary passed by. O'Leary noted, with the part of his mind that always noted those didn't. There wasn't anything wrong with that job, he told himself. It was a perfectly good civil-service position—better than post-office clerk, right that he should be proud of it. He was civil-service born and bred, and naturally he was proud and content to do a good, clean civil-service job. If he had happened to be born a fig—a himself—if he had happened to be born a clerk, why, he would have been proud of that, too. There wasn't anything wrong with being a clerk—or a mechanic or a soldier, or even a laborer, for that matter. Good laborers were the salt of the Earth! They weren't smart, maybe, but they had a—well, a sort of natural, relaxed joy of living. O'Leary was a broad-minded man and many times he had thought almost with a laborer . No responsibilities. No worries. Just an easy, slow routine of work and loaf, work and loaf. Of course, he wouldn't really want that kind of life, because he was Civil Service and not the kind to try to cross over class barriers that weren't meant cars going—and, O'Leary thought approvingly, when his sentence was up Block O in Estates-General Correctional Institution was the disciplinary block, and because of the green straitjackets its inhabitants wore, it was called the Greensleeves. It was a community of its own, an enclave within the larger city-state that was the Jug. And like any other community, it had its leading citizens ... two of them. irritable guard, climbing the steel steps toward Block O from the floor "Owoo-o-o," screamed Sauer from one end of the cell block and of 'em, will you? Especially the lady—she's going to like it here, company." He laughed coarsely and abandoned his charges to the Block O The outside guard said sourly: "A woman, for God's sake. Now O'Leary rule that, even in Block O, you didn't leave the tangler fields on all laborers—"wipes," for short—or, at any rate, they had been once. They had spent so much time in prisons that it was sometimes hard even "Oh, you think so?" shrieked Flock. "Jeez, I wish you hadn't said that, human , she told herself that resentment and anger were natural and right. They were perfectly normal expressions of the freedom-loving citizen's rebellion against the vile and stifling system of Categoried Classes. It was good that "I smell trouble," said O'Leary to the warden. O'Leary shrugged. "Different things. You know Lafon, from Block A? This The warden, faintly relieved, faintly annoyed, scolded: "O'Leary, what "You don't see what I mean, Warden. Lafon was a professional on the outside—an architect. Those laundry cons were laborers. Pros and wipes don't mix it isn't natural. And there are other things." O'Leary hesitated, frowning. How could you explain to the warden that The warden raised his hand. "Please, O'Leary, don't bother me about desk drawer for something, hesitated, glanced at O'Leary, then dropped "O'Leary, you're a guard captain, right? And I'm your warden. You have just as important as my job," he said piously. " Everybody's job is just as important as everybody else's, right? But we have to stick to our own jobs. We don't want to try to pass O'Leary snapped erect, abruptly angry. Pass! What the devil way was that for the warden to talk to him? "Excuse the expression, O'Leary," the warden said anxiously. "I mean, after all, 'Specialization is the goal of civilization,' right?" He was a great man for platitudes, was Warden Schluckebier. " You O'Leary choked back his temper. "Warden, I'm telling you that there's all your supposing, O'Leary." He sipped the remains of his coffee, made a wry face, poured a fresh cup and, with an elaborate show of not He sat beaming into space, waiting for the jolt to take effect. "Well, then," he said at last. "You just remember what I've told you tonight, O'Leary, and we'll get along fine. 'Specialization is the—' That was the trouble with those pale blue tablets, thought O'Leary "O'Leary," he said faintly, "my mistake." actuated the tangler fields on the floors of the cells. The prison rules were humanitarian, even for the dregs that inhabited the Greensleeves. Ten minutes out of every two hours, even the worst case rubber Almost like meat scorching. It wasn't pleasant. He finished untying Flock and turned away let the vain about it, even at times he had been known to boast of his ability him not to, you hear?" O'Leary said: "Warden, I told you I smelled trouble!" corrupt sludge that underlay the state itself. Wipes brawled with wipes and no one cared but in the Jug, all classes were cast together. them out they were to fly interdicting missions at such-and-such

<question>:
Which of the following didn't O'Leary agree with?

<options>:
A rules are meant to be followed
B the Jug was running as smoothly as it could
C he was meant to be part of the Civil Service group
D having specializations was good for civilization

<answer>:

B