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

<passage>:
returned my attention to the inside of the plane, to the overstuffed gray-haired woman asleep beside me, to the backs of heads in seats before me, across the aisle to other heads, and down to the blonde. I had seen her in the concourse and at the gate, a shapely thing. Now and—well, human beings. But human beings aren't worth the trouble. It's like swimming through spaghetti. And I've got to stay away from window. And I can stop clocks. Take this morning, for example. I had set my alarm for five-thirty because I had to catch the seven o'clock plane at San Francisco 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 and balance wheel to see where the notch for the alarm was. The last 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 Soon the stewardesses would bring coffee and doughnuts around, so I The bomb was in a small bag—a woman's bag judging by the soft, 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 there. I glanced out the window again 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. "Sir." My head jerked around. The stewardess stood in the aisle, smiling, extending a tray to me, a brown plastic tray bearing a small I goggled at her, managed to croak, "No, thanks." She gave me an odd look and moved along. My seatmate had accepted hers and was tearing at the cellophane. I couldn't bear to watch her. 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 afford to relax. I pushed and pulled and didn't dare release my hold until it came to a dead stop. "Anything the matter?" me. There was sugar from the doughnut around her mouth and she was still chewing. "No," I said, letting out my breath. "I'm all right." "Must have been dreaming," I said as I rang for the stewardess. When she came I told her I'd take some of that coffee now. No, nothing else, the landing. When they unloaded the luggage, the balance wheel would 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 looked up into the eyes of the stewardess. I handed it to her. She took it without a word and went away. "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. the bomb and placed in a long rack. I went with it. 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 over. "Cab?" 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. counter out of the side of my eye. The attendant had picked up the bag and was walking with it up the ramp 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 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. The clerk took it, nodded, and in a moment brought out the overnight case and set it on the scales. The girl thanked him, picked it up, glanced at me indifferently, and then started for the entrance with it. "Just a moment," I found myself saying, grabbing my bag and hurrying after her. 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 stopped and stared. I noticed a short, fat man in a rumpled suitcoat and unpressed pants staring, too. Ignoring him, I said, "Please put the bag down. Over there." I indicated a spot beside a telephone booth where it would be out of the way. She didn't move. She just said, "Why?" or anything else right now if it had. "I've got to talk to you. It's very important." She gave me a speculative look. I must not have seemed a complete idiot because she said, "All right, but—" I didn't listen for the rest. I went into the booth, closed the door, range it wasn't difficult to stop the balance wheel. Just the same, when I came out I was wringing wet. "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 there when I finished. I asked her who put the bomb in her bag. close to bawling again. Then she recovered and said, "I'm not sure I want to know." I admired her for saying it. Joe must have been crazy. "It's all right now?" she asked. I nodded. "As long as we don't move it." 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 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. 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." 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 shattered the air. Julia's hand grasped my arm. Hard. "Jets," the redcap said, eying the sky. was all right. I didn't want to see him. I didn't know what Julia was thinking. She said, "About those bags," and looked at me.

<question>:
What is the role of the stewardess in the bomb situation?

<options>:
A She is able to interact with the narrator consistently to keep him calm
B She likely never becomes aware of the situation at all
C She is the first person the narrator confides in about the bomb
D She keeps the passengers calm when she is aware there is a threat

<answer>:

B