The Golden Compass
The brass buckle on Sergeant Elias Thorne’s belt had been polished until it gleamed with an almost offensive brightness, a small, perfect circle of metal that caught the grey light of the mill town and held it, refusing to let go. It was a relic of a time before the strikes, before the coal dust settled in the creases of his skin and the rot of the machinery began to eat into the very marrow of...
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