The passengers on the subway who caught a glimpse of me may have thought I was strange. In particular a gentleman sitting opposite me was always staring at me, looking at the cheese bread on the floor in front of me and then staring back at me. A passenger probably dropped it by mistake and got off at a previous stop, but the gentleman might not think so. "Next stop, St. Patrick Station" -- my stop was quickly coming up. I had few minutes to either take the cheese bread, which nobody else was claiming, or left it there. In those few minutes I felt my pride getting in the way. "What would others on the subway think of me if I took the cheese bread? Would they think that I was poor and hungry? Would they think that I was stealing?" The ignorant thing to do was say "yes" to any of those _ questions. Actually, they were just my own thoughts. Though I would leave the subway, walk a block to my office, get settled at my desk, and sit comfortably in my office for the whole day, I couldn't get rid of the enormous sense of guilt and regret. My thoughts once pushed me towards pride and ignorance, but finally I had to admit I was wrong. This missing cheese bread could be a gift for a homeless person who suffered from cold and hunger. So why not overcome a little bit of my pride and pass along so much kindness? Just as the doors opened at my stop, I grabbed the cheese bread and left the subway. It felt awesome, but I didn't care if people were looking at me or what they were thinking. Instead of going directly to my office as usual, I walked a few more blocks up to Queen's park, where I often saw a homeless man sitting outside. I always wanted to give him something, but only today I walked toward him, who wrapped himself in a sleeping bag. I was full of satisfaction, and so did the homeless man, I thought. The gentleman kept staring at the author because   _  .
he wanted to talk to the author the author appeared too nervous the author was going to get off he might think the author dropped the bread