My little Parisian pied-a-terre used to belong to a woman named Dot. In fact, I think it still does. Dot is not on Earth anymore, technically, but I think she has yet to leave her little home.
She had many properties- maybe Paris was her favorite? I read some letters from her friends and they were often reassuring: "Its ok, Dot. You are moving on to new things." and "You have excellent taste in art and friends- you have collected a great deal of both."
She was a traveler and an artist. She was one of our clients, so I looked up her file...
In the inventory for her other Paris home, her belongings read like poetry. And "under the bed" is the best random listing of luxuries I could imagine.
Under the bed:
3 good long dresses
various silk stoles
2 old sari dresses
red hotelplan bag with winter mittens, earmuffs, and hiking stockings
gloves: white beige, black satin, purple, summer
beaver fur coat
And my favorite listing from her closet:
She's not a bad flatmate at all. Who wants to drink coffee alone anyway?