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Hélène is packing the contents of her flat. She does so elegantly, meticulously, smuggling her private sense of beauty into the labor. She has managed to tame her solitude, but her belongings provoke recollections, reminders of an unintended past: a child she never thought she could love, a lover she never thought she should find. Her memory is held and drawn in the irreconcilable nature of her two loves. Even after so long, things have not changed: she is haunted and torn beyond mending.