A friend of mine has a staircase fetish. He admits he cannot resist descending stairs whenever they present themselves. His rationale is they always make him bigger than life; he can assume roles on a staircase forbidden him in everyday life Standing there alone he may be the gallant Sidney Carton, about to sacrifice his life on the guillotine, declaiming, " 'Tis a far, far better thing I do...," or the ambassador plenipotentiary of Great Britain, in its headier days, descending to meet his guests at some embassy ball. The fantasy is really immaterial; the stairs and the setting they provide for his individual romance are the important part.

I must confess doors do much the same thing for me. Doors were made for passing through. Every door is an event and an opportunity, whether it is a m…