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One of the beautiful Victorians on St. Charles Avenue in Midtown Atlanta
I’ve always fancied myself an old-house person. Growing up, I had subscriptions to This Old House and Old House Journal magazines, and I would spend hours drafting plans for what my ideal vintage house would look like. I had dreams of mellowed woodwork, wavy glass windows, plaster walls with charming imperfections, and that all important old house smell. I dreamt of finishing out the attic for a little rainy afternoon reading nook, reached by a set of narrow, steep stairs. And if there were a few ghosts hanging around, I’d more than enough room to share.