Solitude - Five minutes freewrite

The house smelled stale. The light of day was coming in grey, fighting its way through heavy curtains of an uncertain shade of yellow that must have been white long ago. Where were they to start? Keep all the knickknacks you like and shove the rest into trash bags, the old man had said.
The ceramic penguins, so covered in dust and soot their bellies looked grey. Nope. Into the bag.
Old pictures showing an incredibly young Miss Helen - It must have been her, why else would she have kept them? Maybe her brother in Texas would like to have them sent over. Better ask him tonight.

The house was supposed to be empty by tomorrow morning, the agent had said. It's too stuffy in here with all the old lady's things spread around and it puts the buyers off.
The antique night-lamp by the bed looks nice. Ivory - probably valuable, too. Let's keep that. The few books on the shelf by the bed. Cheap romance 'All about you', 'Hopes and dreams', 'Solitude'. All yellowed and dog-eared. Into the bag.
The wardrobe stank of mothballs. They could remember Miss Helen wearing the dark-green deux-pieces every time she got invited to a birthday party. The black coat - you could tell she was going to a funeral when she put that on. Five hat-boxes all bearing the logo off the same store that must have gone out of business twenty years ago. Oh, well, Salvation Army will have to sort through all of them.
You forgot the bathrobe, there, over the armchair.
They'd found her dead in that armchair by the window overlooking the street. They'd said it was a heart attack.

Written for the freewrite challenge created by @mariannewest!

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