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

<passage>:
for, and not wanting to. So I started going through the purse of the woman next to me. Perhaps the insides of things like purses and sealed boxes and locked drawers and—well, human beings. But human beings aren't worth the trouble. they hurt. Maybe you think it's fun. For the most part, it really isn't. I always knew what was in Christmas presents before I unwrapped them, and object with dust inside—a compact. Handkerchief, chewing gum, a small book, probably an address book, money in a change purse—a few bills and coins. Not much else. I was a little disappointed. I've run across a gun or two in my time. But I never say anything. she was out of the room, so I probed the contents of her purse, which she always kept in the upper right drawer of her desk. "It's in your purse," I blurted out. I was sent home with a stinging note. Since then I've kept quiet. At one time I assumed everybody was able to sense. I've known better for years. Still, I wonder how many other people are as close-mouthed about their special gift as I am about mine. I used to think that some day I'd make a lot of money out of it, but can't stand the alarm. When I first learned to do this, I thought I had it made. I even went to Las Vegas to try my hand, so to speak, with the ratchets and pawls luggage to another, looking for my beat-up suitcase. I went through slips and slippers, lingerie and laundry, a jig saw puzzle and a ukulele. I never did find my suitcase because I found the bomb first. quiet alarms. I was going to pass it by and go on, but what held me was that something was taped to it. By the feel, I knew it must be thought: Which one of these.... No, none of them would know it was My heart was beating in jackhammer rhythm 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. I closed my eyes, forced my mind back to the luggage compartment, spent a frantic moment before I found the bag again. I had to stop that balance wheel, just as I stopped my alarm clock every morning. I tried to close everything off—the throb of engines, the rush of air, the the landing. When they unloaded the luggage, the balance wheel would 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 literally with gimlet eyes. unconcernedly as they through the exit gate. I would have liked walking had my suitcase to get, for one thing. The damned bomb was the other. It was impossible to tell from this distance just which bag contained I could hardly identify my own scarred suitcase. The There was a flurry of ticket matching, hands grabbing for suitcases, and a general exodus on the part of my fellow passengers, too fast to the attendant and I had two bags—my own battered veteran of years, and stared back. Then I quickly reached for my baggage check and presented remaining bag. "One left over, eh?" he was eying me with a "well-why-don't-you-get-along?" look. I said, "What happens if nobody claims it?" "Take it inside. Why?" He was getting too curious. "Oh, I just wondered, that's all." through my head as to why it should still be there, and none satisfied 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. No. I had to stay to keep the balance wheel stationary until—until what? A man in tan gabardine, wearing a police cap and badge, walked out of But he moved on down the steps, nodded at the redcap, and started 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 counter out of the side of my eye. inside in time to see him enter through a side door and deposit the bag "Do you have my suitcase?" 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 restrained myself. She didn't move. She just said, "Why?" I'm glad the bomb didn't go off these eyes wouldn't be looking at me The girl said, "Why?" I was beginning to think it was the only word she knew. At the same time I was wondering why anyone would want to kill someone so lovely. "I'll explain in a moment. Please stand right here while I make a don't ask me why." She glanced at the bags. I told her they'd be all right. We followed how I had discovered what was in her overnight bag. must have put the—put it in there." 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 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 because she knew she hadn't packed a clock. It wasn't good, but it 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. The two bags weren't there. I ran to the entrance and nearly collided with the redcap. "See anybody go out of here with a little red bag and an old battered suitcase?" "Bag? Suitcase?" he mumbled. Then he became excited. "Why, a man just Julia's bag in his right hand, and threw both bags into the rear seat as he got in. 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." But we never left the spot because an explosion some blocks distant 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>:
Which is the best description of why Julia and the narrator decide not to report their bags stolen?

<options>:
A They are worried that the bags will be traced back to them and they'll get caught
B They don't want to get mixed up in the investigation of the explosives
C It is the cleanest way to enact their plan and they don't need to be involved anymore
D They don't want to be tied to the death of a known thief, as the police might think they retaliated

<answer>:

B