And here it tightens—the hallway compresses the way a Back Bay brownstone corridor does, channeling all that open-air energy into something deliberate, where crown molding draws the eye forward and the hardwood underfoot deepens from sunlit honey to a richer, almost bourbon-cask amber. The walls close in not to confine but to curate, the way Boston knows how to make density feel like intention, each doorframe a threshold rather than a boundary. You can feel the estate recalibrating around you, trading Montana scale for Massachusetts precision, and the light pooling just ahead suggests a room that opens toward something warm and coastal, something that already smells faintly of salt air and slower afternoons.