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There Are ‘Lots’ of Treasures In The Bronx
ONCE their eyes adjusted to the dim interior of the house that would be theirs, Marcel and Sherrie Deans marveled at the architectural details they could make out amid the dust-covered desks and armchairs and piles of books.
In the bit of light that made it past the drawn curtains and closed blinds, they could see two ghoulish pixie figurines, which doubled as lamps, frolicking on the newel posts. Then it was up the wide, curved staircase that did not creak, grasping the banister that did not wobble. They found heavy pocket doors that slid smoothly, stained glass windows and tin ceilings, as well as a moose head watching from a corner.








