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

<passage>:
," they all said, it being almost too obvious for words. Conditions (a crisp 59 degrees, a mildly dessicated 47%) when a bogus postman, who pretended to be reading a postal card, jostled him. In the confusion of spilled letters and apologies from both sides, the postman He should surely have become suspicious when two men engaged in a heated argument came along. In the ensuing contretemps they emptied his It fell on the streets and houses, making small geysers of shiny mist, hitting with a gentle musical sound, like the ephemeral droppings of a celesta. It was precipitation peculiar to a dome: feather-light fragments showering harmlessly on the city from time to time. Dome weevils, their metal arms reaching out with molten glass, roamed the huge casserole, ceaselessly patching and repairing. The winds roared for a moment and then MacBride's lost voice emerged from the blackness of the living room. "These are Lanfierre had undoubtedly been affected by his job. him not to touch that wheel! Lanfierre. He's in the upstairs Lanfierre's job was to ferret out aberration. It couldn't be tolerated particularly virulent strain of pneumococcus under his microscope. up the stairs. He found Lanfierre standing outside the bedroom with a it was a physical necessity. And, after years of working at it, Lanfierre had become an admirer of eccentricity. He came to see that genuine quirks were rare and, as time went on, due partly to his own "I'm not sure what's going to come of this," he said to Lanfierre with small efforts, rarer. Lanfierre was almost proud of Humphrey Fownes. "What have I done?" Lanfierre asked in the monotone of shock. within the confines of a dome. Conformity had become more than a social Fownes was a masterpiece of queerness. He was utterly inexplicable. patronizing tone of voice. "And up and down." Lanfierre sat stiffly behind the wheel, affronted. The cynical MacBride was a barbarian. Lanfierre had held out on Fownes for months. He to MacBride. After years of searching for differences Lanfierre had seen how extraordinarily repetitious people were, echoes really, dimly resounding echoes, each believing itself whole and separate. They spoke in an incessant chatter of cliches, and their actions were unbelievably trite. Then a fine robust freak came along and the others—the echoes—refused to believe it. The lieutenant was probably on the point of suggesting a amount of equanimity they watched it lift off almost gracefully, standing on end for a moment before toppling to the ground. It was strangely slow motion, as was the black twirling cloud that now rose "I'll tell you something else," Lanfierre went on. "The confines of everyday living ." MacBride's eyes and mouth were great zeros. single window in the place will drop to its sill." Lanfierre leaned there's a whole crowd of people in there waiting for a signal—as if they all had something important to say but had to close the windows And then as soon as the place is buttoned up they all explode into conversation—and that's why the house shakes." MacBride whistled. precipitation. They whirred back and forth at frightful speed, then, emptied of molten glass, rushed to the Trough which they quickly "No, I don't need a vacation." A falling piece of glass dissolved into a puff of gossamer against the flying houses, hear loud babbling voices. You've got winds in your brain, Lanfierre, breezes of fatigue, zephyrs of irrationality—" emptied and then rushed about empty-handed. "Yoo-hoo!" he yelled, ," Lanfierre said. "The expressed his weariness and distaste for people who went off and got neurotic when they could be enjoying a happy, normal existence. There was something implacable about his sighs. Lanfierre nodded. "I can't wait to see what he's got in there," Lanfierre murmured, . He went on, thinking: The old devils. How really odd the ancients were. Seduction seemed to be an incredibly long and drawn-out process, accompanied by a considerable amount of falsification. Communication seemed virtually impossible. "No" meant any number of things, depending on the tone of voice and the My dear Mrs. Deshazaway. Too formal. They'd be looking out at the romantic garden time to be a bit forward. No. Contrived. How about a simple, Dear Mrs. Deshazaway . That might be fell on the garden and rolled ponderously along, crooning When the Blue of the Night Meets the Gold of the Day And all the rest have thirty-one. What a strange people, the ancients! He still didn't see the orange car parked down the street. "Men are too perishable," Mrs. Deshazaway said over dinner. "For all practical purposes I'm never going to marry again. All my husbands die." "Would you pass the beets, please?" Humphrey Fownes said. her to be, to explain why she couldn't marry him. "Do you have any idea what people are saying? They're all saying I'm a cannibal! I rob my husbands of their life force and when they're empty I carry their bodies outside on my way to the justice of the peace." "As long as there are people," he said philosophically, "there'll be talk." "But it's the air! Why don't they talk about that? The air is stale, I'm positive. It's not nourishing. The air is stale and Andrew, Curt, Norman and Alphonse couldn't stand it. Poor Alphonse. He was never so worse for him." "I don't seem to mind the air." She threw up her hands. "You'd be the worst of the lot!" She left the table, rustling and tinkling about the room. "I can just hear them. Try some of the asparagus. Five. "Don't you think they'll find out? I they will. It's my fault, I guess. I talk too much. And I don't always tell the truth. To be completely honest with you, Mr. Fownes, it blows across prairies or is " And ," Mr. Fownes added, his voice a honeyed whisper, "they say look of such intense abstraction on his features that Lanfierre felt a would be such a deliciously insane experience. ("April has thirty number such that all smaller numbers not having a common divisor with it are Lanfierre sighed.) to government publications and censored old books with holes in them. It was used so infrequently that the Movement was able to meet eighty. She spent her days reading ancient library cards and, like the books around her, had been rendered by time's own censor into near unintelligibility. "Here's one," she said to him as he entered. " Gulliver's Travels. people's offspring. The members sat around at the miniature tables looking oddly like giants fled from their fairy tales, protesting. "Where did the old society fail?" the leader was demanding of them. He glanced around at the group almost complacently, and waited as Humphrey Fownes squeezed into an empty chair. "We live in a dome," the leader said, "for lack of something. An invention! What is the one thing that the great technological societies before ours could not invent, notwithstanding their various giant brains, electronic and otherwise?" leave." "And that day I'll await impatiently," Fownes replied with marvelous ." "Nonsense. Ridiculous! You have to be prepared for the Open Country. You can't just up and leave, it would be suicide, Fownes. And dialectically very poor." "Then you have

<question>:
Lanfierre has all of the following beliefs about humanity EXCEPT:

<options>:
A They are oblivious
B They are self-absorbed
C They are untrustworthy
D They are vapid

<answer>:

C