The corridor runs the length of the building and it used to roar. Every door closing at the end of a period arrived at the far end a second later, doubled.

Marit has looked after this campus for eleven years, through two extensions and one demolition. She knows which windows swell in August and which door needs lifting before it will latch.

The rebuild kept the frame and replaced almost everything hung on it. The corridor was widened by six hundred millimetres, which sounds like nothing and changed the way the building sounds entirely.

Soft soffits, a slot of daylight every eight metres, and a floor that gives slightly underfoot. None of it is visible from the photographs that get taken of the front elevation.

The campus sits on a shallow rise above the harbour, and the wind comes across it from the north-west with nothing in the way. The new glazing is set deep for that reason rather than for the shadow line, though the shadow line is welcome.

Marit measures the building in a way an architect cannot. She knows the day the heating comes on, the week the courtyard dries out, and the exact hour the sun reaches the far end of the corridor in June.