Across the foot of the bed hung petticoat, camisole, and hose, and beside the dress a pair of satin slippers exactly matching the hose, and they seemed the right size.
Linda tiptoed to the side of the bed and delicately touched the dress, and then she saw a paper lying on the waist front, and picking it up read: Lambie, here's your birthday, from loving old Katy.
The lines were terse and to the point.

Linda laid them down, and picking up the dress she walked to the mirror, and holding it under her chin glanced down the length of its reflection.

What she saw almost stunned her.
"Oh, good Lord!" she said.

"I can't wear that.

That isn't me." Then she tossed the dress on the bed and started in a headlong rush to the kitchen.