Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.

<passage>:
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] What better way to use a time machine than to handle department store complaints? But pleasing  a customer should have its limits! the table containing the drinks, Miss Pringle, who sold millinery, had Hartshorne, co-founder, from its nail. It tinkled imposingly as its broken glass out of sight and to turn more attention to another type of glasses. Mr. Hawkins himself, acting by reflex, attempted to return the portrait attention on any working day. With the proper mixture of respect and bonhommie, he lifted the heavy picture out of its frame. A yellowed envelope slipped to the floor as it into a desk drawer, for later attention. Then he looked around for a drink that would make him feel even better. A sorting clerk in the mail order department wasn't used to liquor. She picked up the envelope and looked around vaguely for the mail-opening machine. "Hell, Milly, you aren't working!" someone shouted at her. "Have returned to reality. Looking at the envelope, she said: "Oh, I see. They must have stuck it in to tighten the frame. Gee, it's old." "I didn't know the company ever used buff envelopes like this." Milly turned it over in her hands. The ancient glue crackled as she did so. The flap popped open and an old-fashioned order blank fell out. Mr. Hawkins' eyes widened. He bent, reached painfully over his potbelly and picked up the order form. "This thing has never been processed!" Raising his voice, he shouted jovially, "Hey, people! You're all fired! Here's an order that Hartshorne-Logan never filled! We can't have such carelessness. This poor woman has waited eighty years for her merchandise!" Milly was reading aloud the scrawled words on the order form: "Best electric doorbell. Junior detective kit. Disposable sacks for "The poor woman must be dead by now," he objected, secretly angry warehouse. Tell the watchman that it's on my authority. Hunt up the stuff that's on the order. Get the best of everything. Ignore the catalogue numbers—they've changed a hundred times in all these years." grandmother never bought anything from Hartshorne-Logan because of some Ann Hartley was returning from mailing the letter when she found the large parcel on her doorstep. She put her hands on her hips and stared pugnaciously at the bundle. "The minute I write a letter to complain about you, you turn up!" she told the parcel. She nudged her toe peevishly against the brown paper wrappings that were tied with a half-transparent twine she had never the impersonal typing on the customary Hartshorne-Logan bundles. But the familiar RATTLE OK sticker was pasted onto the box, indicating to the delivery man that the contents would make a rattling sound and therefore hadn't been broken in shipment. Ann sighed and picked up her bundle. With a last look at the lovely "Your dress ought to be here," Ann said. She found scissors in her open the parcel. "Now I'll have to write another letter to explain that they should throw away my letter of complaint," she told her daughter. "And by the time they get my second letter, they'll have answered my first letter. Then they'll write again." Out of consideration for Sally, she omitted the expletives that she wanted to add. Ann repressed an irrational urge to slap her daughter. Instead, she to look vacantly at the distant wall. "We'll have to send it back," Ann said, "and get the one we ordered." "Your order's here? Good. What's this thing?" He was looking at a small box he had pulled from the carton. Its lid contained a single word: MANKY. The box rattled when he shook it. "It looks terribly expensive. Maybe they sent door chimes instead of the doorbell." The bottom of the carton contained the detective outfit that they had ordered for their son. Ann glanced at its glaringly lithographed cover Ann was staring, too, but not at her daughter. "Les! The hassock! It Ann's frazzled nerves carried a frantic order to her muscles. She Ann felt the scream building up inside her. She opened her mouth to let Ann immediately felt better. She put her hands behind her back, pulled "Maybe you'd better start a letter to Hartshorne-Logan. Let's go into repeating that message, you'd better shut that part off. It might get boring after a while. And it might insult someone." Ann went to the door and turned the knob. The door didn't open. The Ann put her mouth close to the glass, shouting: "Won't you come to the "If this is ventriloquism—" she began icily. "I'll have to order another doorbell just like this one, for the door had no latch, held closed by a simple spring. Ann pushed it open neighbor. "I'm so sorry you had to walk around the house. It's been a rather hectic day in an awful lot of ways." "Excitement isn't good for me," Mrs. Burnett said testily. "I've had a house. Ann stood squarely in front of the door leading to the hall. Defeated, Mrs. Burnett left. A muffled volley of handclapping, mixed with a few faint cheers, came from the doorbell-box when she crossed Ann went into the hall to order Les to disconnect the doorbell. She "Well, put it away," Ann told Bob sharply. "It's slimy." "Les, I think we've made poor Mrs. Burnett angry," Ann said. "She's so wife. "I don't know why you ordered such a thing." He tossed the booklet into the empty box. "I'm going to return it, if you don't smudge it up," she replied. "Look at the marks you made on the instructions." The black finger-marks stood out clearly against the shiny, coated paper. Ann fingered the garment. She didn't recognize it as a nightgown. But Bob rigged up trestles to warn visitors from the front porch. Ann She wasn't hungry, her nose was running, and she had a dry cough. Les called the doctor before going to work. The mailman brought a letter from Hartshorne-Logan. Ann stared stupidly at the envelope, until she realized that this wasn't an impossibly quick answer to the letter she had written yesterday. It must have crossed in the mail her complaint about the non-arrival of the order. She tore open the envelope and read: "We regret to inform you that your order cannot be filled until the balance you owe us has been reduced. From the attached form, you will readily ascertain that the payment of $87.56 will enable you to resume the purchasing of merchandise on credit. We shall fill your recent order as soon...." Ann crumpled the letter and threw it into the imitation fireplace, work tonight. She had just decided to call Hartshorne-Logan's complaint "Don't bother trying," Ann said miserably. "Just cut it off." He looked helpless as he said to Ann: "I don't know quite what to do. "Oh, no," Ann breathed. "Something's happened to Les." fingerprints on everything I touch. I can't handle correspondence or shake hands with customers. How's the kid? What's the ambulance doing out front?" The orderly grabbed her again. This time he stuffed a handkerchief into her mouth to quiet her. "Come back to this house as soon as you deliver him," Dr. Schwartz "Why did you do it?" Ann asked Bob, her anger suddenly slumping into

<question>:
Why had Ann Hartley written the first letter to Hartshorne-Logan?

<options>:
A To disregard her complaint about the package not being received.
B To complain about incorrect items being sent.
C To complain about the package not being received.
D To request a refund for the package being damaged.

<answer>:

C