The Golden Compass
THE GOLDEN COMPASS I. The shop lived in the narrow throat of Charing Cross Road, wedged between a bookmaker's and a Thai take-away like a secret that had forgotten to tell anyone who it belonged to. Its window displayed nothing but compasses—brass ones tarnished to the colour of old pennies, silver ones polished to a mirror brightness that caught the streetlamp's glow and fractured it into tiny...
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