A townhouse in Manhattan with a good address, just completed. The new facade in the line of the street of buildings stood out distinctly. In the photographs, the natural stone shield, surrounded by glass, looked like a backdrop. In reality, the facade was more uniform, more integrated in its surroundings. My instinct to criticize vanished when I entered the house. The quality of its construction captured my attention. The architect received us, took us into the vestibule, and showed us from room to room. The rooms were spacious, their order logical. We were eager to see each succeeding room, and we were not disappointed. The quality of the daylight entering through the glazed rear facade and a skylight over the stairs was pleasant. On all the floors, the presence of the intimate back yard around which the main rooms were grouped was perceptible, even at the heart of the building.

The architect spoke in respectful, amicable terms (tones) of the clients, the newly installed residents, of their understanding of his work, of his efforts to comply with their requirements, and of their criticism of some impractical aspects which he subsequently improved. He opened cupboard doors, lowered the large scrim blinds, which suffused the living room with a mellow light, showed us folding partitions, and demonstrated huge swing doors that moved noiselessly between two pivots, closing tightly and precisely. Every now and then, he touched the surface of some material, or ran his hands over a handrail, a joint in the wood, the edge of a glass pane.

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