input: Text: OUT OF THE IRON WOMB! By POUL ANDERSON Behind a pale Venusian mask lay hidden the arch-humanist, the anti-tech killer... one of those who needlessly had strewn Malone blood across the heavens from Saturn to the sun. Now—on distant Trojan asteroids—the rendezvous for death was plainly marked. The most dangerous is not the outlawed murderer, who only slays men, but the rebellious philosopher: for he destroys worlds. Darkness and the chill glitter of stars. Bo Jonsson crouched on a whirling speck of stone and waited for the man who was coming to kill him. There was no horizon. The flying mountain on which he stood was too small. At his back rose a cliff of jagged rock, losing its own blackness in the loom of shadows; its teeth ate raggedly across the Milky Way. Before him, a tumbled igneous wilderness slanted crazily off, with one long thin crag sticking into the sky like a grotesque bowsprit. There was no sound except the thudding of his own heart, the harsh rasp of his own breath, locked inside the stinking metal skin of his suit. Otherwise... no air, no heat, no water or life or work of man, only a granite nakedness spinning through space out beyond Mars. Stooping, awkward in the clumsy armor, he put the transparent plastic of his helmet to the ground. Its cold bit at him even through the insulating material. He might be able to hear the footsteps of his murderer conducted through the ground. Stillness answered him. He gulped a heavy lungful of tainted air and rose. The other might be miles away yet, or perhaps very close, catfooting too softly to set up vibrations. A man could do that when gravity was feeble enough. The stars blazed with a cruel wintry
  Question: Why did Johnny say Dr. McKittrick wasn't sociable?
  
   (A) She was very intelligent
   (B) She wasn't beautiful
   (C) She was young
   (D) She was too focused on her work
  Answer:
output: She was too focused on her work