Mrs. Foster: What she minds is his (Eugene) makin' a clown of himself in her own front yard. Made her think he didn't care much about her. She's probably mistaken but it's too late for her to think anything else now. The wedding will be a big Amberson-style thing. Raw oysters floating in scooped-out blocks of ice. The band from out of town. And then Wilbur will take Isabel on the carefulest little wedding trip he can manage. And she'll be a good wife to him. But they'll have the worst-spoiled lot of children this town will ever see...She couldn't love Wilbur, could she? Well, it'll all go to her children, and she'll ruin them.
Narrator: The prophetess proved to be mistaken in a single detail merely...Wilbur and Isabel did not have children; they had only one.
Mrs. Foster: Only one! But I'd like to know if he isn't spoiled enough for a whole carload.
Narrator: Again, she found none to challenge her. George Amberson Minafer, the Major's one grandchild, was a princely terror.
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