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

<passage>:
his eyebrows went up, and he made a beeline for Doc. Sandra wondered if the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Silently, so as not to shock anyone with illusions about well dressed young women, Sandra Lea Grayling cursed the day she had persuaded the Sandra as a particularly maddening circumstance. Sandra's chief difficulty was that she knew absolutely nothing about "You're durn tootin' she would!" Sandra replied in a rush, and then looked down apprehensively at the person who had read her thoughts. "I could see that mademoiselle was having difficulty swallowing," he replied, keeping them moving. "Pardon me for feasting my eyes on your lovely throat." chess be without coffee or schnapps?" "Okay, lead on," Sandra said. "You're the doctor." "Doctor?" He smiled widely. "You know, I like being called that." "Then the name is yours as long as you want it—Doc." Meanwhile the happy little man had edged them into the first of a small cluster of tables, where a dark-suited jabbering trio was just rising. "For myself black coffee," he said. "For mademoiselle rhine wine and seltzer?" "That'd go fine." Sandra leaned back. "Confidentially, Doc, I was having trouble swallowing ... well, just about everything here." He nodded. "You are not the first to be shocked and horrified by beautiful young lady to this 64-square madhouse?" Sandra briefly told him her story and her predicament. By the time they were served, Doc had absorbed the one and assessed the other. "You have one great advantage," he told her. "You know nothing whatsoever of chess—so you will be able to write about it understandably for your readers." He swallowed half his demitasse and "Yes, Doc, but...." Sandra found difficulty in phrasing the question. You want to know why, if the Machine works at all, it doesn't work perfectly, so that it always wins and there is no contest. Right?" Sandra grinned and nodded. Doc's ability to interpret her mind was as comforting as the bubbly, mildly astringent mixture she was sipping. He removed his pince-nez, massaged the bridge of his nose and replaced "Look ahead a little way and try to make a plan. You know, like getting out trumps in bridge or setting up a finesse." "Exactly!" Doc beamed at her approvingly. "The Machine is like a and is capable of being programmed much more craftily." "A million times as fast as the first machine, you say, Doc? And yet it only sees twice as many moves ahead?" Sandra objected. "There is a geometrical progression involved there," he told her Sandra tried to think of a being who always checked everything, but She turned back quickly with a smile and a nod. "I should tell you, Igor," Doc continued, "that Miss Grayling represents a large and influential Midwestern newspaper. Perhaps you have a message for her readers." moment the waiter arrived with a second coffee and wine-and-seltzer. Jandorf seized Doc's new demitasse, drained it, set it back on the tray with a flourish and drew himself up. While Sandra arranged for an interview with Jandorf after the day's playing session, Doc reordered his coffee. "One expects it of Jandorf," he explained to Sandra with a philosophic shrug when the shock-headed man was gone. "At least he didn't take your master Mister, call him Master. They all eat it up." "Gee, Doc, I don't know how to thank you for everything. I hope I haven't offended Mis—Master Jandorf so that he doesn't—" "Don't worry about that. Wild horses couldn't keep Jandorf away from a the Machine blindfold? How do you think of it?" "Gosh, I don't know. Say, Doc, is it really true that Master Jandorf has played 50 games at once blindfolded? I can't believe that." "Of course not!" Doc assured her. "It was only 49 and he lost two of those and drew five. Jandorf always exaggerates. It's in his blood." "Cripes, Doc, they all sound like they were Russians," Sandra said isn't he?" Doc nodded. "Not such a boy any longer, though. He's.... Well, speak of ex- , though. I was swindled, Savvy. I was robbed." "Willie!" Doc said with some asperity. "Miss Grayling is a journalist. She would like to have a statement from you as to how you will play for two months in advance. Waiter! I'm here, not there!" And he went charging off. Doc and Sandra looked at each other and smiled. "Chess masters aren't exactly humble people, are they?" she said. Doc's smile became tinged with sad understanding. "You must excuse them, though," he said. "They really get so little recognition or recompense. This tournament is an exception. And it takes a great deal Doc frowned. "True, in a sense. They must feel very sure.... Here going two by two in close formation, but it gave Sandra the feeling of Doc gave a short scornful laugh. "Krakatower! Don't pay any attention to him of beating them all! Please, don't get me started on Dirty Old Krakatower." "Take it easy, Doc. He sounds like he would make an interesting article? Can you point him out to me?" He would not amplify his statement. Sandra studied the Scoreboard again. The newcomer was of middle height, compact of figure and feature, with graying hair cut short and combed sharply back. Doc spoke his piece for Sandra. Simon Great smiled thinly. "Sorry," he said, "But I am making no predictions and we are giving out no advance information on the fast enough." "That makes it very tough on you," Sandra put in. "The Machine isn't allowed any weaknesses." "You know, Doc," Sandra said, "I'm a dog to suggest this, but what Doc laughed happily—and so loudly that some people at the adjoining tables frowned. "Miss Grayling, that is a wonderful idea! I will probably steal it for and has grandmaster skill." "Did the Machine beat him?" Sandra asked. Doc shrugged. "The scores weren't released. It was very hush-hush. But about your idea, Miss Grayling—did you ever read about Maelzel's famous chess-playing automaton of the 19th Century? That one too was break down while it is being demonstrated to a millionaire purchaser and the young inventor will have to win its game for it to cover up and swing the deal. Only the millionaire's daughter, who is really a its opponents, or beaming rays of death and hypnotism at them? I can imagine...." While Doc chattered happily on about chess-playing robots and chess stories, Sandra found herself thinking about him. A writer of some sort evidently and a terrific chess buff. Perhaps he was an actual medical doctor. She'd read something about two or three coming over with the Russian squad. But Doc certainly didn't sound like a Soviet citizen. He was older than she'd first assumed. She could see that now that she was listening to him less and looking at him more. Tired, too. this assignment completely and now she had it laid out cold. For the umpteenth time in her career Sandra shied away from the guilty thought that she wasn't a writer at all or even a reporter, she just used old, American, Russian) and pick his brain.... She realized suddenly that the whole hall had become very quiet. Doc was the only person still talking and people were again looking at them disapprovingly. All five wallboards were lit up and the changed

<question>:
How would Sandra's journaling experience been if she had not met Doc?

<options>:
A She would have struggled to identify all the competitors to name in her article if it was not for Doc.
B She would have had more time to get a better understanding to write about the Machine if Doc had not taken up all her time talking.
C She would have likely written a very vague article due to her lack of experience with chess.
D She would have not struggled as much with writing since Doc gave her excess information.

<answer>:

C