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

<passage>:
how become pretty good at guessing. But I never say anything. I learned the wisdom of keeping my mouth shut in the fourth grade when "It's in your purse," I blurted out. Since then I've kept quiet. At one time I assumed everybody was able people are as close-mouthed about their special gift as I am about mine. how? I can't read thoughts. I can't even be sure what some of the things I sense in probing really are. International Airport. This being earlier than I usually get up, it seems all I did during the night was feel my way past the escapement So I'm stuck with a talent I've found little real use for. Except that it amuses me. Sometimes. Not like this time on the plane. The woman beside me stirred, sat up suddenly and looked across me out the window. "Where are we?" she asked in a surprised voice. I told her My mind was churning when I turned from the window to look around at the unconcerned passengers, the woman at my side asleep again. I thought: Which one of these.... No, none of them would know it was my mouth was dry and my mind was numb. Tell somebody about the bomb before it's too late! No, they'd think I put it there. Besides, what good would it do? There would be panic and they'd never get the plane down in time—if they believed me. to close everything off—the throb of engines, the rush of air, the start again. I wouldn't be able to stay with it, keeping it still. I considered telling the authorities as soon as we landed, or maybe calling in ahead, but wouldn't that just bring suspicion, questions. Maybe I could convince them I could stop a clock—but not before the bomb exploded. And then what? My secret would be out and my life would be changed. I'd be a man not to be trusted, a prying man, a man "Were you really asleep that time?" "Not really," I said. I was tempted to tell the woman I was subject to watch the baggagemen at work, transferring the luggage to two airfield carts. They weren't as careful as I would have been. It was impossible to tell from this distance just which bag contained "Yeah." He was so bored I was tempted to tell him what was in it. But He was getting too curious. "Oh, I just wondered, that's all." I stepped on my cigarette and walked toward the air terminal entrance and put my suitcase on the stone steps there. A redcap came hurrying over. man named Amos Magaffey on Sixth Street at ten o'clock, discussing something very mundane, the matter of a printing order. But what could I do? If I left the airport, the attendant would eventually take the bag inside and there would be an explosion, and I wouldn't be able to live with myself. A man in tan gabardine, wearing a police cap and badge, walked out of the entrance to stand on the stone steps beside me while he put on a pair of dark glasses. A member of the airport police detail. I could tell him. I could take him down to the little red bag and explain the whole thing. Then it would be his baby and I would be off on my own across the street to the parking area. I could have called to him, "Hey, officer, let me tell you about a bomb in a little red bag." But I didn't. I didn't because I caught a movement at the baggage claim inside in time to see him enter through a side door and deposit the bag on the scales at the airline desk and say something to the clerk. The "No. I'm waiting for someone." I turned my back to him, put down my suitcase, leaned against the counter and reached out for the wheel. I found I could reach the escaped my grasp. "Do you have my suitcase?" I blinked my eyes open and looked around. The blonde in the plane stood there looking very fresh and bright and unconcerned. In her right hand she had a green baggage claim check. At her side and a little ahead of her, I said, "Listen to me." She looked annoyed and increased her stride toward the door. "It's a matter of life or death," I said. I wanted to wrest the bag from her and hurl it out through the doorway into the street, but I She didn't move. She just said, "Why?" "I've got to talk to you. It's very important." The girl said, "Why?" I was beginning to think it was the only word she don't ask me why." "Now will you please tell me what this is all about?" she said stiffly. "Gladly. Let me buy you a cup of coffee and I'll explain." She glanced at the bags. I told her they'd be all right. We followed the short, fat man into the coffee shop. Over coffee I explained it all to her, how I had this extrasensory ability, how she was the first person I had ever revealed it to, and how I had discovered what was in her overnight bag. "Joe did," she said in a toneless voice, not looking at me any more but "Who is Joe?" "My husband." I thought she was going to really bawl, but she got in some books we'd both finished reading—for my sister. That's when he I said gently, "Why would he want to do a thing like that?" "I don't know." She shook her head. "I just don't know." And she was want to know." I admired her for saying it. Joe must have been crazy. I told her I didn't know how much more time there was, that I'd been thinking it over and that the only way out seemed to be to tell the airport policeman. After I explained it to her, the girl—she said her name was Julia Claremont—agreed to tell him she thought there was a bomb in her bag, that she had noticed a ticking and had become worried would have to do. "We've got to get it deactivated," I said, watching the fat man pay for his coffee and leave. "The sooner the better." I finished my coffee in one gulp and went to pay the bill with her. I asked her why she didn't claim the bag at the same time the other people had. She said she had called her sister and the phone was busy for a long while. "She was supposed to meet me, and when she wasn't here, I got worried. She said she isn't feeling well and asked me to take a cab." She smiled a little. It was a bright, cheery thing. I had the feeling it was all for me. "That's where I was going when you caught up with me." "See anybody go out of here with a little red bag and an old battered suitcase?" Julia's bag in his right hand, walked back to the entranceway where Julia was standing with the redcap, who said, "That man steal them suitcases?" "That he did," I said. Just then the airport policeman started across the street from the parking lot. Redcap said, "Better tell him about it." The policeman was sympathetic and concerned. He said, "We'd better get over to the office." shattered the air. Julia's hand grasped my arm. Hard. "Jets," the redcap said, eying the sky. "I don't know," the policeman said. "Didn't sound much like a jet to me." was all right. I didn't want to see him. I didn't know what Julia was The officer said, "Yes, miss?" "I—I don't care about mine. I didn't have much of anything in it." "I feel the same way," I said. "Would it be all right if we didn't bother to report it?" "Well," the policeman said, "I can't make you report it." "I'd rather not then," Julia said. She turned to me. "I'd like some

<question>:
Why does the narrator reveal his secret ability to Julia?

<options>:
A He loves Julia, and he doesn't want there to be any secrets between them.
B If he doesn't explain his ability, she'll think he's a creeper for going in her luggage.
C He needs to stay with the suitcase to keep the bomb from going off. He needs her cooperation.
D He'll have a better chance of getting her to believe him than the airport policeman believing his story.

<answer>:

C