Sandra: Adjective/Adverb paragraph

Doreen was making a great show of tidying the lingerie display whilst in reality doing nothing at all.  A fact that had not escaped the eagle eye of her supervisor Mrs Farmer.
'Doreen.' She said sharply, 'If you have nothing better to do you can sort out the new delivery from Contessa'.  Doreen scowled and then replied with a forced smile, 'Of course Mrs Farmer'.
Doreen had been working at Braydons Ladies Fashions for two whole months. It was the longest time she had managed to hold down a job but she was rapidly tiring of the novelty. In the hot and  cramped stockroom Doreen looked at the pile of boxes waiting to be unpacked, checked and sorted with a sinking heart.  She looked at her watch,  "Two hours till her lunchbreak".  She decided to start on the special orders and picking up her scissors cut the strings from the biggest box.  She checked the order number against the special orders book. "Olivia Manson-Green".  What a name she thought and conjured up in her mind what a lady with such a posh title might have ordered.  The white tissue  paper around the package was opened out to reveal a dress.
Doreen had never seen a dress so beautiful.  A delicate shade of cornflower blue made with the softest shimmering silk, cut quite plainly but with a hand embroidered bodice. She could not resist holding the dress up against her.  Mrs Farmer was busy on the sales floor with a customer, Doreen rushed into a changing cubicle.  "There can be no harm in it." She thought as she pulled off her navy skirt and white blouse with great haste.  Soon her work uniform was replaced by the soft silk of the dress. It fitted her as if it had been made for her the colour enhancing her own blue eyes.  Doreen flicked her hair and pouted her lips in the mirror, stifling a giggle. She glanced down at the price tag and any dreams she had of owning such a dress vanished in the wind as she realized she was wearing six month's wages.
'Doreen, customer.'  Mrs Farmer's voice rang out across the shop.
"Oh Shit" Doreen thought as she struggled with the zip. "Any second now, the old battleaxe will be in here after me".  It was no use the zip was stuck, she would just have to try and squirm her way out of the dress.
Wriggling furiously and sucking her stomach in Doreen managed to get the dress over her hips only to hear the straining fabric rip as she caught the heel of her shoe in the hem.  Off balance she stumbled and half fell out of the changing room into the waiting arms of Mrs Farmer.


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