 What wasn't strange about the dress purchased?
The Christmas party at the Boston branch of Hartshorne-Logan was threatening to become more legendary than usual this Christmas. When he slid under the table containing the drinks, Miss Pringle, who sold millinery, had screamed: "He'll drown!" The recently developed liquors which affected the bloodstream three times faster had driven away twinges of conscience about untrimmed trees and midnight church services. The janitor foreman weighed fifty pounds less than the Burma gentleman, who was the salesman's customary opponent. "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. "We'd better put old H. H. away for safekeeping until after the holiday," he told a small, blonde salesclerk who was beneath his attention on any working day. To hear more of it, he said to her: "I'll bet that's been in there ever since the picture was framed. But I remember that my grandmother never bought anything from Hartshorne-Logan because of some trouble her mother had once with the firm. She found scissors in her sewing box, tossed a cushion onto the floor, sat on it, and began to open the parcel. Ann pulled out the dress and shook it into a freely hanging position. It didn't remotely resemble the dress she had admired from the Hartshorne-Logan catalogue illustration. "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. The bottom of the carton contained the detective outfit that they had ordered for their son. A neon, demanding, screaming green that clashed horribly with the soft browns and reds in which Ann had furnished the room. She jumped up, strode to the hassock and picked up the manky with two fingers. As the door closed, he saw the entire interior of the dark closet brighten into a wet-lettuce green. The wedding band that Les had put there a dozen years ago was a brilliant green, shedding its soft glow over the finger up to the first knuckle. She put her hands behind her back, pulled off her ring and slipped it into her apron pocket. 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.
 it spoke to Sally
 it spoke to Sally  it wouldn't come off  it made Sally levitate  it changed colors