 Which is the best description of why Julia and the narrator decide not to report their bags stolen?
Mine was no satisfaction, never earned me a penny—and now it had me fighting for my life in ... Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] I had finished reading the Chronicle , folded and put it beside me, turned and looked out the window, expecting to see the San Joaquin Valley but finding only a sea of clouds instead. So I 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. Inventory completed, I went back to looking at the clouds, knowing I should be thinking about the printing order I was going to Los Angeles for, and not wanting to. It started when I was a kid, this business of being able to explore the insides of things like purses and sealed boxes and locked drawers and—well, human beings. I always knew what was in Christmas presents before I unwrapped them, and therefore Christmas was always spoiled for me as a kid. I learned the wisdom of keeping my mouth shut in the fourth grade when Miss Winters, a stern, white-haired disciplinarian, ordered me to eat my sack lunch in the classroom with her instead of outside with some of the other kids. I didn't want her to think I had taken it while 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. 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. I went through slips and slippers, lingerie and laundry, a jig saw puzzle and a ukulele. The bomb was in a small bag—a woman's bag judging by the soft, flimsy things you'd never find in a man's—and I didn't know it was a bomb right away. One went to a battery and the other to hard round cylinders taped together. Quickly I went up past the train of gears to the alarm wheel. No, none of them would know it was there. We'd be leaving the valley for the mountain range north of Los Angeles soon, if we hadn't left it already. When they unloaded the luggage, the balance wheel would start again. I'd be a man not to be trusted, a prying man, a man literally with gimlet eyes.
 They don't want to get mixed up in the investigation of the explosives
 They are worried that the bags will be traced back to them and they'll get caught  They don't want to get mixed up in the investigation of the explosives  It is the cleanest way to enact their plan and they don't need to be involved anymore  They don't want to be tied to the death of a known thief, as the police might think they retaliated