Read the excerpt below from the reading. Then rewrite the excerpt from
Che point of view of Shiro's neighbor.
The greedy neighbor, hearing of this new piece of good luck, was filled
with envy as before, and called on the old man and asked to borrow
the wonderful mortar for a short time, pretending that he, too,
sorrowed for the death of Shiro, and wished to make cakes for a
festival to the dog's memory.
The old man did not in the least wish to lend it to his cruel neighbor,
but he was too kind to refuse. So the envious man carried home the
mortar, but he never brought it back.
Several days passed, and Shiro's master waited in vain for the mortar,
so he went to call on the borrower, and asked him to be good enough
to return the mortar if he had finished with it. He found him sitting by a
big fire made of pieces of wood. On the ground lay what looked very
much like pieces of a broken mortar. In answer to the old man's inquiry,
the wicked neighbor answered haughtily:
"Have you come to ask me for your mortar? I broke it to pieces, and
now I am making a fire of the wood, for when I tried to pound cakes in
it only some horrid smelling stuff came out."

thanks and have a good day ! <3

I couldn’t believe my neighbor’s luck. Why did good things always happen to him and not me? It wasn’t fair at all. I knew that I had to do something to make things more equal between us. I approached him one day and asked to borrow the mortar. I could see that he was suspicious of me. I lied to him about my intentions, saying that I wanted to make cakes for a feast in memory of his dog. I pretended to be plunged into sorrow at his dog’s death, even though I had secretly killed the dog. I had hoped doing so would make us equal in our misery.

The old man agreed to lend me his mortar, but I think he was just foolishly too weak to say no. I took the mortar home with absolutely no intention of returning it to him.

I immediately tried to make cakes with the mortar. Instead of the wonderful bounty I had heard about, I ended up with something foul smelling. I was enraged. I tried to use the mortar for a few days, but it continued to fail me. Once again, I felt like the victim. Why must I suffer, while my neighbor profited? I broke the mortar into pieces and began burning it in a fire. My neighbor came to my house at that time. He seemed shocked at the sight of his precious mortar burning to ashes. I was consumed by fury and said to him, “Have you come to ask me for your mortar? I broke it to pieces, and now I am making a fire of the wood, for when I tried to pound cakes in it only some horrid smelling stuff came out.”