In the darkest hours of the night-time, somewhere in deepest North Yorkshire, silent horses are tethered to the roadside by travellers, chomping the delicious swathes of springtime grass while no-one is paying attention. Their shapes loom out of the shadows as the headlights of solitary cars pick them out; disinterested, they look up for a second before returning to their midnight feast.
Yorkshire-isn't that where Myra Hindley & Co. Slaughtered their victims!
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