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

<passage>:
Linton lay down his steel fork beside the massively solid transparency Howell, the man across the table from him, looked embarrassed without looking. "Not at all. Somebody who looks like him. Twin brother. You know how it is. Snead's dead, don't you remember?" Linton remembered. Howell had to know that he would remember. What Snead's brother, I might catch him to pay my respects." "No," Howell said, "I wouldn't do that." "Snead came to Greta's funeral. It's the least I could do." "I wouldn't. Probably no relation to Snead at all. Somebody who looks like him." "He's practically running," Linton said. "He almost ran out of the intimately against Linton's own chair. thick man said. "Couldn't have been him, though," Linton answered automatically. "My friend's dead." Howell breathed in deeply and sucked back Linton's attention. "Now you've probably got old Snead into trouble." "Snead's dead," Linton said. "Oh, well, 'dead,'" Howell replied. "What do you say it like that for?" Linton demanded angrily. "The man's dead. Plain dead. He's not Sherlock Holmes or the Frankenstein Monster—there's no doubt or semantic leeway to the thing." "You know how it is," Howell said. Linton had thought he had known how death was. He had buried his wife, or rather he had watched the two workmen scoop and shove dirt in on the sawdust-fresh pine box that held the coffin. He had known what he sincerely felt to be a genuine affection for Greta. Even after they had let him out of the asylum as cured, he still secretly believed he had known a genuine affection for her. But it didn't seem he knew about death at all. Linton felt that his silence was asking Howell by this time. "I don't know, mind you," Howell said, puffing out tobacco smoke, "but life?" Linton said. He knew, of course, that Howell did not mean that. Howell meant that some people had a system of making it appear that a person had died in order to gain some illegal advantage. But by saying something so patently ridiculous, Linton hoped to bring the contradicting truth to "But it's wonderful," Linton said, thinking his immediate thoughts. "I don't understand," Linton said helplessly. their whole life. You got to realize that." "That's not enough. Not nearly enough." "Think of all the problems it would cause. Insurance, for one thing. Overpopulation. Birth control is a touchy subject. They'd have to take it up if everybody got resurrected when they died, wouldn't they?" "I don't understand," Linton complained. "Why haven't I heard about it?" the other day that said 'death' was our dirty word, not sex. You want to shock somebody, you tell him, 'You're going to be dead someday,' not anything sexual. You know how it is. The Linton's fingers imprinted the linen. "Damn you, Howell, you tell me!" console you over the loss of your wife a half a year ago, and to make you feel welcome back to the society of your fellows after being in the hospital for a nervous breakdown. I do all that, and for thanks, you yell at me and curse me. You kooks are all alike!" well, Mr. Linton, we understand you've been causing disturbances." attempted to bribe an officer. That's disturbing, Mr. Linton, very "I was only trying to find out something," Linton maintained. "They Linton stared suspiciously. "Do you know where I can find a Linton scooted forward on the insultingly cold metal chair and really "Doctor, I'm beginning to believe in you," Linton said, "but tell me, dead?" "Size has nothing to do with it." "No, my wife has been dead a long time. Months." "Months?" The doctor snapped those weeks away with his fingers. "It could be years. Centuries. It's all mathematics, my boy. I need only Linton grasped the situation immediately. "You mean you want money. You "I've often been in institutions myself, for alcoholism, narcotics "What a wonderful professional career," Linton said, when he couldn't "Neither did I," Linton said hastily. "I invested in shifty stocks, would have been secure for the rest of my lonely, miserable life." "All that's ended now," the doctor assured him. "Now we must go dig up the corpse. The female corpse, eh?" Resurrection Day! "Doctor," Linton whispered, "my mind is singing with battalions of Beautifully." The certificate to allow reburial in Virginia hadn't been impossible to obtain. The doctor had taken the body and Linton's fortune and fed them both into the maw of his calculators, and by means of the secret, smuggled formulae, Greta would be cybernetically reborn. Linton shook his head. It seemed impossible. But Greta opened the It wasn't fair at all, Linton thought. He should have had some time to doubt he would be able to adjust to her once having been dead the same way he had learned to accept the, to him, distasteful duty of kissing "Now, now," Linton said, "we mustn't get excited. You've been through a course it would be it hadn't changed even in the grave. He remembered the snaky tendrils of it growing out of the water-logged casket. "I must see all our old friends," Greta persisted. "Helen and Johnny...." "My darling," he said gently, "about Johnny—" Her fine black brows made Gothic arches. "Yes? What about Johnny?" "It was a terrible accident right after—that is, about five months ago. He was killed." "Killed?" Greta repeated blankly. "Johnny Gorman was killed?" "Traffic accident. Killed instantly." "But Johnny was your friend, your best friend. Why didn't you have him resurrected the same way you did me?" "No," Linton said. "I'm sold out. I've borrowed on my insurance to the hilt. It won't pay any more until I'm buried, and then, of course, you can resurrect me." "Of course," Greta said. She sighed. "Poor Johnny. He was such a good friend of yours. You must miss him. I'm so sorry for you." "I have you," he said with great simplicity. to quench death and smother decay. It's perfect with it over her head. Linton leaped aside and Greta hit the edge of the desk instead of him. Brain damage, he concluded nervously. Cell deterioration. writhed against him provocatively. "Frank, I'm sorry, dear, but I have to have that insurance money. It's hell!" Linton understood immediately. He felt foolish, humiliated. All that money! He had resurrected a gold ring that had turned his knuckles green. No one must ever know. Linton twisted the stand away from his wife and watched her face Linton was surprised at the fine wire mesh just below the skin and old corpses and make androids, synthetic creatures, to take their place? But it didn't matter. Not a bit. She had thought she was his wife, sharing her viewpoint down to the finest detail, and he had thought she was his wife. It was what you thought was real that made it so, not the other way around. "I've killed my wife!" Linton called, rising from his knees, stretching his hands out to something. The pain stung him to sleep—a pain in his neck like a needle that left Linton. But they'll cure you. You'll be cured of ever thinking your wife was brought back to life and that you killed her all over again." "Do you really

<question>:
Why did Linton spend time in an asylum?

<options>:
A he invested in bad stocks
B he committed murder
C suffers from delusions and hallucinations
D his wife died from cancer

<answer>:

B