He had always despised them, except the largest of them, which was the home of his henchman, Charlie Johnson.

The Johnsons had originally owned a lot three hundred feet wide, but they had sold all of it except the meager frontage before the house itself, and five houses were now crowded into the space where one used to squire it so spaciously.

Up and down the street, the same transformation had taken place: every big, comfortable old brick house now had two or three smaller frame neighbours crowding up to it on each side, cheap-looking neighbours, most of them needing paint and not clean--and yet, though they were cheap looking, they had cost as much to build as the big brick houses, whose former ample yards they occupied.

Only where George stood was there left a sward as of yore; the great, level, green lawn that served for both the Major's house and his daughter's.

This serene domain--unbroken, except for the two gravelled carriage-drives--alone remained as it had been during the early glories of the Amberson Addition.
George stared at the ugly houses opposite, and hated them more than ever; but he shivered.