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

<passage>:
kiss from his wife, a word from his son, and later to see some old friends and a relative or two. He didn't want to talk about the journey. He wanted to forget the immediacy, the urgency, the terror then perhaps he would talk. their eyes dropped, they turned away, they began moving off. He was still too much the First One to have his gaze met. surprised that he'd had to do this. He'd thought Edith would be watching at a window. And perhaps she had been watching ... but she hadn't opened the door. Edith nodded and, still holding to Ralphie with one hand, put the other arm around him. He kissed her—her neck, her cheek—and all the old jokes came to mind, the jokes of travel-weary, battle-weary men, the and- down beside him—but she had hesitated. He wasn't being sensitive she had hesitated. His wife had hesitated before sitting down beside him. He nodded, remembering that, remembering everything, remembering the warmth of her farewell, the warmth of Ralphie's farewell, their tears as ran from the room and from the house. He and Edith sat beside each other, and he wanted badly to take her in tired. I'd like to lie down a while." Which wasn't true, because he'd been lying down all the months of the way back. She said, "Of course. How stupid of me, expecting you to sit around and make small talk and pick up just where you left off." He nodded. But that was exactly what he wanted to do—make small talk and pick up just where he'd left off. But they didn't expect it of him they wouldn't let him they felt he had changed too much. still showed. He waited for her to leave the room. She said, "Well then, rest up, dear," and went out. been treated properly and would soon disappear. But she had never seen them. Perhaps she never would. Perhaps pajamas and robes and dark rooms would keep them from her until they were gone. Which was not what he'd considered at all important on leaving Walter Reed Hospital early this morning He was tired of thinking. He lay down and closed his eyes. He let himself taste bitterness, unhappiness, a loneliness he had never known before. Before he'd become the First One, it would have been a noisy affair. His family had never been noted for a lack of ebullience, a lack of company present—to describe everything and anything that had happened to him during the day. And Edith herself had always chatted, especially with his mother, though they didn't agree about much. Still, it had been good-natured the general tone of their lives had been good-natured. This wasn't good-natured. Exactly what it was he wasn't sure. "Stiff" was perhaps the word. at Mother as he raised his first spoonful of chilled fruit, and said, "Younger than ever." It was nothing new he'd said it many many times before, but his mother had always reacted with a bright smile and a quip something like, "Young for the Golden Age Center, you mean." This time she burst into tears. It shocked him. But what shocked him even more was the fact that no one looked up, commented, made any attempt to comfort her no one indicated in any way that a woman was sobbing at the table. Aunt Lucille made a few quavering statements about the Ladies' Tuesday trowel." Aunt Lucille smiled, if you could call it that—a pitiful twitching of the lips—and nodded. She threw her eyes in his direction, and past him, and then down to her plate. Mother, who was still sniffling, said, "I have a dismal headache. I'm going to lie down in the guest room a while." She touched his shoulder in passing—his affectionate, effusive mother who would kiss stray dogs and strange children, who had often irritated him with an excess of physical and verbal caresses—she barely touched his shoulder and fled. Ralphie said, "Yeah, Dad." Aunt Lucille put down her knife and fork and into the living room for a while. "She'll be back for dessert, of course," he said, his laugh sounding forced. Hank looked at Edith of, that he could have smashed more than a table. Edith said, "Hank!" He said, voice hoarse, "Shut up. Go away. Let me eat alone. I'm sick of the lot of you." Mother and Joe returned a few minutes later where he sat forcing food down his throat. Mother said, "Henry dear—" He didn't answer. She began to cry, and he was glad she left the house then. He had never said anything really bad to his mother. He was afraid this would have been the time. Joe merely cleared his throat and mumbled something about getting together again soon and "drop out and see the new development" hesitated near his chair, and when he made no comment she called the anything to get away from your father." Ralphie's head dropped and he muttered, "Aw, no, Dad." Edith said, "He'll stay home, Hank. We'll spend an evening together—talking, watching TV, playing Monopoly." want to." They answered together that of course they wanted to. But their eyes—his wife's and son's eyes—could not meet his, and so he said he they shouldn't count on him for normal social life. He fell asleep quickly, lying there in his clothes. and it seemed her old smile. "They're so anxious to see you, Hank. I could barely keep Phil from coming up and waking you himself. They want to go out and do the town. Please, Hank, say you will." He sat up. "Phil," he muttered. "Phil and Rhona." They'd had wonderful times together, from grammar school on. Phil and Rhona, their oldest and closest friends. Perhaps this would begin his real homecoming. full of jokes. He patted Edith on the head the way he always had, and clapped Hank on the shoulder (but not the way he always had—so much more gently, almost remotely), and insisted they all drink more than was and Hank went right on drinking. Edith said something to him, but he many times before, and he was sure several of the couples recognized him. But except for a few abortive glances in his direction, it was as for her to come close on her own, and she did, and yet she didn't. Because while she put herself against him, there was something in her face—no, in her eyes it always showed in the eyes—that made him know she was trying to be the old Edith and not succeeding. This time when Rhona glanced to the left, and so did Hank and Edith. Rhona made a little sound, and Edith seemed to stop breathing, but Phil went on a while longer, not yet aware of his supposed "You know why?" he repeated, turning to the back seat, the laughter The car was filled with horrified silence when there should have been would satisfy people. Maybe that's the only way to act, like Dracula or another monster from the movies." Edith said, "Oh, Hank, don't, don't!" didn't wait for Edith. He just got out and walked up the flagstone path and entered the house. "Hank," Edith whispered from the guest room doorway, "I'm so sorry—" "There's nothing to be sorry about. It's just a matter of time. It'll all work out in time." I should have told you that the moment you walked in. I think I've hurt you terribly, we've all hurt you terribly, by trying to hide that we're frightened." "I saw nothing," he said. "It was as if I slept those six and a half months—slept without dreaming." She came to him and touched his face with her lips, and he was satisfied. Later, half asleep, he heard a dog howling, and remembered stories of

<question>:
Why did nobody react when Henry's mother started crying at the table?

<options>:
A They didn't understand what was wrong and felt too awkward to say anything.
B They were too busy taking care of other details surrounding the meal.
C They felt for her in all of the uncertainty and tension.
D They were used to her tears and knew it was better not to say anything.

<answer>:

C