The Golden Compass
The bell tower had a crack in it. It was a thin line, like a vein of quartz running through dark granite. It started at the base of the north face and spiraled upward, jagged and bright. I saw it first from the ground, then I saw it when I was up in the belfry, sweeping the dust that settled on the stone floor. The crack did not change. It did not widen. It simply was. I am a keeper. That is my...
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