 Why had Ann Hartley written the first letter to Hartshorne-Logan?
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!" One out of every three dirty stories started by party attendees had remained unfinished, because each had reminded someone else of another story. 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. To hear more of it, he said to her: "I'll bet that's been in there ever since the picture was framed. 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. The label was addressed in a wandering scrawl, a sharp contrast to the impersonal typing on the customary Hartshorne-Logan bundles. 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. Ann grabbed her daughter's arms, held them above her head and pulled at the dress. 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. 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 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. 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.
 To complain about the package not being received.
 To disregard her complaint about the package not being received.  To complain about incorrect items being sent.  To complain about the package not being received.  To request a refund for the package being damaged.