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Updated: June 11, 2025
For of all the "ideals of life" which the world, in its rolling, inconsiderately flattens out to nothingness, the least likely to retain a profile is that ideal which depends upon inheriting money. George Amberson, in spite of his record of failures in business, had spoken shrewdly when he realized at last that money, like life, was "like quicksilver in a nest of cracks."
This exclamation referred to the subterranean machinery, for dismaying sounds came from beneath the floor, and the vehicle plunged, then rolled noisily forward. "Behold!" George Amberson exclaimed. "She does move! It must be another accident." "Accident?" Morgan shouted over the din. "No! She breathes, she stirs; she seems to feel a thrill of life along her keel!"
"May I ask what you think I ought to have done?" "Nothing." "'Nothing?" George echoed, mocking bitterly "I suppose you think I mean to let my mother's good name " "Your mother's good name!" Amberson cut him off impatiently. "Nobody has a good name in a bad mouth. Nobody has a good name in a silly mouth, either.
George Amberson Minafer came home for the holidays at Christmastide, in his sophomore year, probably no great change had taken place inside him, but his exterior was visibly altered.
"Oh, he keeps up about what he wears, well enough, but well, look at that!" He pointed to a statue of Minerva, one of the cast-iron sculptures Major Amberson had set up in opening the Addition years before.
What restored him completely was a dark-eyed little beauty of nineteen, very knowing in lustrous blue and jet; at sight of this dashing advent in the line of guests before him, George was fully an Amberson again. "Remember you very well indeed!" he said, his graciousness more earnest than any he had heretofore displayed. Isabel heard him and laughed. "But you don't, George!" she said.
The five new houses, built so closely where had been the fine lawn of the Amberson Mansion, did not look new. When they were a year old they looked as old as they would ever look; and two of them were vacant, having never been rented, for the Major's mistake about apartment houses had been a disastrous one. "He guessed wrong," George Amberson said.. "He guessed wrong at just the wrong time!
I don't think my mother need worry much about offending anybody in this old town." "It must be wonderful," said Miss Morgan. "It must be wonderful, Mr. Amberson Mr. Minafer, I mean." "What must be wonderful?" "To be so important as that!" "That isn't 'important," George assured her. "Anybody that really is anybody ought to be able to do about as they like in their own town, I should think!"
This was no white-and-blue cottage, but a great Georgian picture in brick, five miles north of Amberson Addition, with four acres of its own hedged land between it and its next neighbour; and Amberson laughed wistfully as they turned in between the stone and brick gate pillars, and rolled up the crushed stone driveway. "I wonder, Lucy, if history's going on forever repeating itself," he said.
George went with him to the station, and their farewell was lengthened by the train's being several minutes late. "I may not see you again, Georgie," Amberson said; and his voice was a little husky as he set a kind hand on the young man's shoulder.
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