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The Highwayman
On a cold frosty night, the moon was like a ghasly ship shadow, on cloudy seas. Silent hoofs galloped up the a cold moonlit path, as the highway man rode up to the old cracked inn door. His blood-shot eyes stared ahead into the mist, but only saw the creaky door of the old crooked inn. He cluched his gun as hard as he cood, until his hand went pale. He whisled a sweet tune to the window, and the window shutter opened whith a creek. It was Bes the Landlords dorter.