Chapter III

    Rotten whined to his father, ‘Why are we takin’ these nasty blackberries, Po? They are yeurch!’ He stuck his sharp, green tongue out and bared his zigzaggy teeth.
    ‘We’re not gonna eat ‘em, you rotten twerp,’ grated Potato-Peel, swiping Rotten across the nose with his filthy paw. ‘We’re takin’ them to starve out that stoopid mouse family. That’ll teach ‘em,’ he screeched, searching through the matted hair on his back for a particularly troublesome flea that had landed on his nose a few seconds previously.
    They scratched back into their hole, leaving only five of the smallest, unripe blackberries on the bush.

The End

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