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

<passage>:
, she thought. He rapidly mounted the stairs and halted at the top to look around searchingly. His gaze lighted on their table, the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Silently, so as not to shock anyone with illusions about well dressed young women, Sandra Lea Grayling cursed the day she had persuaded the features, and talked foreign languages. They yakked interminably. The only ones who didn't were scurrying individuals with the eager-zombie look of officials. Sandra as a particularly maddening circumstance. much further out of the world. Overheard scraps of conversation in reasonably intelligible English were not particularly helpful. Samples: "Not worth the trouble. The play was feeble. Barely Expert Rating." Sandra's chief difficulty was that she knew absolutely nothing about the game of chess—a point that she had slid over in conferring with the powers at the "Perhaps mademoiselle would welcome a drink?" "You're durn tootin' she would!" Sandra replied in a rush, and then looked down apprehensively at the person who had read her thoughts. It was a small sprightly elderly man who looked like a somewhat a pearl-gray suit of almost exactly the same shade as Sandra's—a stairs. "How did you know I wanted a drink?" "I could see that mademoiselle was having difficulty swallowing," he replied, keeping them moving. "Pardon me for feasting my eyes on your "That'd go fine." Sandra leaned back. "Confidentially, Doc, I was having trouble swallowing ... well, just about everything here." He nodded. "You are not the first to be shocked and horrified by chess," he assured her. "It is a curse of the intellect. It is a game Sandra briefly told him her story and her predicament. By the time they were served, Doc had absorbed the one and assessed the other. "You have one great advantage," he told her. "You know nothing whatsoever of chess—so you will be able to write about it understandably for your readers." He swallowed half his demitasse and it is not a humanoid metal robot, walking about clanking and squeaking like a late medieval knight in armor?" "Yes, Doc, but...." Sandra found difficulty in phrasing the question. perfectly, so that it always wins and there is no contest. Right?" Sandra grinned and nodded. Doc's ability to interpret her mind was as comforting as the bubbly, mildly astringent mixture she was sipping. "That sounds like the way a man would play a game," Sandra observed. "Look ahead a little way and try to make a plan. You know, like getting out trumps in bridge or setting up a finesse." "Exactly!" Doc beamed at her approvingly. "The Machine like a abides by sound principles, who is utterly incapable of flights of genius, but who never makes a mistake. You see, you are finding human interest already, even in the Machine." Sandra nodded. "Does a human chess player—a grandmaster, I mean—ever look eight moves ahead in a game?" experience and artistry. The equivalent of those in the Machine is the directions fed into it before it plays a game." "You mean the programming?" "Indeed yes! The programming is the crux of the problem of the dull-brained woodpusher afraid to take the slightest risk of losing material—but a dub who could almost always beat an utter novice. and is capable of being programmed much more craftily." "A million times as fast as the first machine, you say, Doc? And yet it only sees twice as many moves ahead?" Sandra objected. "There is a geometrical progression involved there," he told her with a smile. "Believe me, eight moves ahead is a lot of moves when ahead. The Machine will make no such oversights. Once again, you see, you have the human factor, in this case working for the Machine." and began to whisper explosively in a guttural foreign tongue. Sandra's gaze traveled beyond the balustrade. Now that she could look down at it, the central hall seemed less confusedly crowded. In the Sandra looked with quickening interest at the console of the Machine—a Sandra tried to think of a being who always checked everything, but will defeat the Machine. Do you have that? You can remember it?" "Oh yes," Sandra assured him, "but there are some other questions I wine-and-seltzer. Or did he? One tip I have for you: don't call a chess master Mister, call him Master. They all eat it up." "Gee, Doc, I don't know how to thank you for everything. I hope I isn't he?" Doc nodded. "Not such a boy any longer, though. He's.... Well, speak of the Devil's children.... Miss Grayling, I have the honor of presenting "Willie!" Doc said with some asperity. "Miss Grayling is a journalist. She would like to have a statement from you as to how you will play against the Machine." "I know you haven't the time now, Master Angler," Sandra said rapidly, Doc and Sandra looked at each other and smiled. "Chess masters aren't exactly humble people, are they?" she said. Doc's smile became tinged with sad understanding. "You must excuse them, though," he said. "They really get so little recognition or recompense. This tournament is an exception. And it takes a great deal of ego to play greatly." They want to score a point over their great rival." "But if the Machine plays badly it will be a black eye for them," Sandra pointed out. her best chess players at all adequately. I think the Russian players are here because UNESCO and FIDE (that's going two by two in close formation, but it gave Sandra the feeling of Sandra said, consulting her program. "Four out of ten have USSR after It would be like that antique womanizer to develop senile delusions of youthfulness." He would not amplify his statement. Sandra studied the Scoreboard again. "This Simon Great who's down as programming the Machine. He's a famous physicist, I suppose?" machines—they were programmed by scientists. No, Simon Great is a psychologist who at one time was a leading contender for the world's The newcomer was of middle height, compact of figure and feature, with graying hair cut short and combed sharply back. Doc spoke his piece for Sandra. running on it. My men are permitted to make repairs—if they can work fast enough." "That makes it very tough on you," Sandra put in. "The Machine isn't allowed any weaknesses." games with the Machine to assure himself that it operates legitimately and has grandmaster skill." "Did the Machine beat him?" Sandra asked. Doc shrugged. "The scores weren't released. It was very hush-hush. break down while it is being demonstrated to a millionaire purchaser and the young inventor will have to win its game for it to cover up and swing the deal. Only the millionaire's daughter, who is really a stories, Sandra found herself thinking about him. A writer of some sort Russian squad. But Doc certainly didn't sound like a Soviet citizen. He was older than she'd first assumed. She could see that now that she was listening to him less and looking at him more. Tired, too. Only his dark-circled eyes shone with unquenchable youth. A useful old umpteenth time in her career Sandra shied away from the guilty thought that she wasn't a writer at all or even a reporter, she just used dime-a-dozen female attractiveness to rope a susceptible man (young, old, American, Russian) and pick his brain.... She realized suddenly that the whole hall had become very quiet. Doc was the only person still talking and people were again looking at them disapprovingly. All five wallboards were lit up and the changed assistants

<question>:
Would Sandra consistently consider herself a skilled journalist?

<options>:
A Yes, and the way she was able to easily journal about the chess competition shows her competency.
B No, because she usually knows very little about what she will be journaling about.
C No, she has her doubts that her skills are not what makes her successful at interviewing people.
D Yes, because she considers herself a very experienced talker.

<answer>:

C