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

<passage>:
miss it. I knew something. "I don't wash because I drink coffee." "It's all right to drink coffee, isn't it?" he asked. "Of course," I said, and added absurdly, "That's why I don't wash." "You mean," Andre said slowly, ploddingly, "that if you bathed, you would be admitting that drinking coffee was in the same class as any other solitary vice that makes people wash frequently." Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] I admit it: I didn't know if I was coming or I looked at that which he had made. I wondered where he had gone, in search of what. during all these weeks and months. His hands looked old and crippled, the human race can tell itself how to achieve a state of pure logic, without food, without sex, without conflict—just as Doc has achieved such a state—a little late, true. He had a powerful guilt complex, his. That was bad. It had happened a few times right after I first found him, but now it was worse. For some undefinable reason, I felt we even stronger than your withdrawal, over releasing this blessing on the inhabited universe, but reason finally prevailed. He had reached a state of pure thought." "We'll use one bed," I told him. "I'll give you twenty cents." I felt "Fifteen cents a bed," he played it back for me. since we ain't full up. In ad vance." I placed the quarter on the desk. "Give me a nickel." The clerk's hand fell on the coin and slid it off into the unknown I would never know. I supposed I had destroyed it because I didn't want the human race to become a thing of pure reason without purpose, direction or love, but I would never know for sure. I thought I could kick the habit—perhaps with Miss Casey's help—but I wasn't really confident. Maybe I had destroyed the time machine because a world without material needs would not grow and roast coffee. bedbugs in sight and stepped on them heavily. dirty, I could feel the grime grinding together all over me. My shaggy gas tank to get rid of Doc's and my cooties. Lucky that I never needed to shave and that my face was so dirty, no one would even notice that I uncovered floor. It stopped hurting, but I knew it would begin if I moved. I stared at a jagged cut-out nude curled against a lump of dust and lint, giving it an unreal distortion. His voice rose to a meaningless wail that stretched into non-existence. The pen slid across the scribbled face of the notebook and both dropped from my numb hands. But I knew. Somehow, inside me, I knew to thinking it was just a dream and that I was dragging this old man around North America for nothing, I remembered who he was. I crawled to the door and raised myself by the knob, slick with greasy dirt. The door opened and shut—there was no lock. I shouldn't leave He was starting to cry. He didn't always do that. I listened to him for a moment, then tested and tasted the craving that crawled through my veins. I got back inside somehow. him bellow. I soothed the lanks of soiled white hair back over his wasn't perfume, only the scent of soap. Finally, I knew it wasn't that. it for coffee, or to apply, or a glass or hypo of something else?" I cringed and whined. She would expect it of me. I suddenly realized that anybody as clean as she was had to be a tourist here. I hate I hadn't eaten in a day and a half, but I didn't care much. I felt my face flushing red. "You wouldn't want to be seen with a bum It was certainly unfair and probably immoral. But I had no choice do. The cramp flowed out of my diaphragm. I took another swallow and That was what coffee did for me. I was a caffeine addict. Earth-norm humans sometimes have the addiction to a slight extent, but sensualist. I just needed release. Sometimes, when I didn't have the price of a cup, I would look around in alleys and find cola bottles with a few drops left in them. They have a little caffeine in Earth human. I was a clean she looked and I was aware of how clean she smelled. I was so dirty, so very dirty that I could never get clean if I bathed every hour for the rest of my life. I choked a little on a bite of stale bun. The world disoriented itself and I was on the floor of the somber diner knew this last time had been different. Whatever it was was getting closer. This was the first time webbing—and fashioned them to his needs. My orb-point pen had dissolved under his touch. All of them, useless parts, were made into a meaningful whole. I knew the thing had meaning, but when I tried to follow its design, I became lost. I put the paper container of warm coffee and the greasy bag of hamburgers on the wooden chair, hoping the odor wouldn't bring any I wondered what the words meant. Wondering takes a kind of concentration. The heavier man was half choking, half laughing. "I say—I say, I would like to see you explain this, my dear fellow." "I have no data," the thin man answered coolly. "In such instance, one begins to twist theories into fact, or facts into theories. I must ask this unemployed, former professional man who has gone through a serious illness and is suffering a more serious addiction to tell me the place and time from which he comes." The surprise stung. "How did you know?" I asked. He gestured with a pale hand. "To maintain a logical approach, I must reject the supernatural. Your arrival, unless hallucinatory—and despite my voluntary use of one drug and my involuntary experiences recently with another, I must accept the evidence of my senses or retire from my profession—your arrival was then super-normal. I might into one of his novels of scientific romance." I knew who these two men were, with a tormenting doubt. "But the other—" "Your hands, though unclean, have never seen physical labor. Your theories, concentration does set the facial features. I judge you have suffered an illness because of the inhibition of your beard growth. Your over-fondness for rum or opium, perhaps, is self-evident. You are at too resilient an age to be so sunk by even an amour. Why else then would you let yourself fall into such an underfed and unsanitary state?" He was so smug and so sure, this snowbird. I hated him. Because I couldn't trust to my own senses as he did. unknown sort to me. His tapered fingertips had indented the metal. His bright eyes followed mine and he smiled faintly. "Withdrawal symptoms." The admiration and affection for this man that had been slowly building up behind my hatred unbrinked. I remembered now that he had stopped. He was not topographical way divorced from modern physical sciences. He kept it secret and he wanted to make money with it. He was an idealist—he had "He became a book finder. He got rare editions of books and magazines for his clients in absolutely mint condition. That was all right—until he started obtaining books that did not exist ." snatched up the coffee container, tore it open and gulped down the soothing liquid. The coffee stained and soiled and ruined, and I was fiercely glad, a fever and there wasn't one. After that, I didn't know what to do. "Kevin," Andre said, "why don't you take a bath?" tried to explain that I was so dirty that I could never get clean no matter how often I bathed. No words formed. dirty." on the floor, but at the last moment seemed to change direction and

<question>:
Why might the narrator feel that he is "so dirty, so very dirty that I could never get clean if I bathed every hour for the rest of my life"?

<options>:
A Because he is homeless and unclean.
B Because he has cooties.
C Because his addiction prevents him from bathing.
D Because he unknowingly feels debasement in desiring something material.

<answer>:

D