The Golden Compass
The Golden Compass
The Golden Compass
The compass did not point north. That was the first thing Eleanor Vane learned when her grandfather left her the shop. It sat on a velvet cushion behind glass, no larger than a thimble, its brass casing tarnished to the colour of old tea. The needle trembled\u2014trembled, though there was no hand to shake it\u2014then settled on a direction that made no sense. Not north. Not south. East?...
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