 What didn't Ann receive from Hartshorne-Logan?
The Christmas party at the Boston branch of Hartshorne-Logan was threatening to become more legendary than usual this Christmas. But the impact knocked the hallowed portrait of H. H. Hartshorne, co-founder, from its nail. "It's all in the spirit of good, clean fun!" cried Mr. Hawkins, the assistant general manager. Mr. Hawkins himself, acting by reflex, attempted to return the portrait to its place until new glass could be obtained. Here's an order that Hartshorne-Logan never filled! But I remember that my grandmother never bought anything from Hartshorne-Logan because of some trouble her mother had once with the firm. Ann Hartley was returning from mailing the letter when she found the large parcel on her doorstep. She found scissors in her sewing box, tossed a cushion onto the floor, sat on it, and began to open the parcel. Instead, she tossed the wrappings aside and removed the lid from the carton. Ann pulled out the dress and shook it into a freely hanging position. "It's probably the wrong size, too," Ann said, pulling off Sally's dress to try it on. Ann grabbed her daughter's arms, held them above her head and pulled at the dress. When Ann released the child's arms to loosen the dress, Sally squirmed away. The bottom of the carton contained the detective outfit that they had ordered for their son. Ann glanced at its glaringly lithographed cover and said: "Les, about Sally. A neon, demanding, screaming green that clashed horribly with the soft browns and reds in which Ann had furnished the room. "But did you see Sally when she—" Ann's frazzled nerves carried a frantic order to her muscles. As the door closed, he saw the entire interior of the dark closet brighten into a wet-lettuce green. When he turned back to Ann, she was staring at her left hand. She opened her mouth to let it out, then put her hand in front of her mouth to keep it in, finally jerked the hand away to prevent the glowing ring from turning her front teeth green. I'll tie a paperweight to Sally's dress and that'll hold her down until we undress her. She put her hands behind her back, pulled off her ring and slipped it into her apron pocket. "Maybe you'd better start a letter to Hartshorne-Logan. She kept her eyes determinedly off the tinge of green that was showing through the apron pocket and didn't dare look back at her daughter's unsettling means of propulsion.
 a response to her complaint letter
 a letter regarding money owed  a package with incorrect items  a response to her complaint letter  a manky